Trouble Rebounds
by gleamingeyes
Summary: Though he has defeated Voldemort, Harry remains restless and frustrated. He tries to find peace by travelling back in time to the Marauders' era...but there can be no peace while the Dark Lord lives. Includes other characters from Harry's time.
1. Proceed With Caution

**Hey! This is just an intro, really—well, clearly, as it's the first chapter. It usually takes me about a page to get into any sort of rhythm, so if the first bit seems a little choppy please still push on regardless. Also (this is a pity plea) this is my first fic here, so, first of all, REVIEW, and also try not to utterly destroy it. Though I do love suggestions…to a point. Haha.**

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**Chapter 1: Proceed With Caution**

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_Act as if it were impossible to fail. _

_- _Dorothea Brande

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Harry James Potter was pacing up and down, up and down on the thick carpets of the Headmistress's office at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Minerva McGonagall, the acting Headmistress of the ancient institution, was absent, respectfully allowing the boy hero to be alone with the imprint of the man he wished to speak with.

"Professor," said Harry abruptly, halting his passage across the floor to, apparently, begin a conversation, for the sixth time in the last twenty-five minutes.

The large, golden-framed, brightly painted portrait of Albus Dumbledore peered back at him. "Yes?" he said kindly, a he had five times before to Harry that evening.

Harry paced some more for a minute or two, then stopped suddenly once more, running a long-fingered hand through his unruly dark fringe. He was a tall, thin, oddly graceful man with emerald eyes and a closed face that bore too many lines for one so young—only nineteen years of age.

"For Merlin's sake—" growled Phineas Nigellus from somewhere off to the left, but he was utterly ignored.

"Professor," he said again, but this time did not wait for the portrait's response before plowing on, his words swift and jumbled, his hands and features uncharacteristically animated, displaying a passion that had been fought down over the past year and a half. "I have an—idea. A wish. I—I think, given your views on the Resurrection Stone, that you might not approve, but I've not reached this decision, er, lightly. I think—I know—Professor, I want…to see my parents."

Albus Dumbledore blinked.

"Harry—"

"_Listen to me_," said Harry, vehement and slightly unreasonable, beginning to pace again. "The war is over, great—and I actually mean that, really, but it's just…all this happiness and—and euphoria, people cheering for me and wanting to _touch _me all the time, like I'm some sort of god—it's maddening. They all have people they love, a family…parents. Oh, I know I have foster parents of a sort in the Weasleys," he added hurriedly, as though Dumbledore might find him ungrateful, "but it's not the same. I want…more…no, that's not it." Harry was struggling now to articulate the burning desires within him. "I just want to _see_, to _know_…I want," said Harry abruptly, after a pause and drawing a deep breath, "to travel back in time, and meet my parents."

Harsh, heavy silence filled the magnificent room. Harry felt an abrupt yearning for Fawkes, who had always broken prolonged uncomfortable gaps in conversation with his soft, soothing warbles.

"Harry." The painted features of Hogwart's former headmaster were very still. "Please sit."

Harry, after a moment or two, took his old seat on the far side of the desk from the portrait.

"I, of all people, can understand you yearning," said Dumbledore slowly. "I can see why you want…what you want. But time travel is…a very, ah, _risky_ business. The potential for disaster is enormous."

"I know that."

"Do you? Altering the past even a tiny bit could spell eternal enslavement for wizardkind. I won't presume to question your motives, but say, _for example_, you gave a young Sirius Black a hint of a hint about the horror that his future will become. Without his death, Harry, you could never have forced Kreacher to tell you his stories, never gained his confidence, never found Mundungus Fletcher, never located and destroyed the locket Horcrux."

"I know all this," said Harry tightly; he was impatient, and strangely, oddly angry, as he had been for months upon months. "What if I swear, right now, not to change things?"

The portrait was frowning.

"If anybody deserved something like this, Harry, it's you. But equally, if anybody, even with the purest intentions, has the most likelihood to, ah, shift the balance, so to speak, it's also you."

"I've lived without parents for eighteen years," said Harry coldly. "I think I've adjusted by now to the _balance_ my life has."

"_Clearly_," muttered the portrait of Phineas Nigellus.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't do it—at least," amended Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling, "I'm not saying so outright. I'm simply cautioning you. Strongly."

"What _are_ you saying?" growled Harry, not amused.

"Proceed—or fall back, whichever—with utmost caution and wisdom. Your instincts are nearly impeccable, Harry. Your temper, however, is not. I fear for the effect that your impulsiveness will have on the future."

"Thank you." His fingers were gripping the chair's arms rather tightly, and he was staring out the window, not at his former headmaster.

Albus Dumbledore sighed very deeply. There was a long silence. Then— "Are you aware of _how_ to time travel?"

Harry looked up. "I was actually kind of hoping for some assistance on that…"

"Are you asking me to enable you to put an entire world in grave danger?" said Dumbledore sternly, but Harry caught the telltale signs of humor in his thin face.

"No," he said seriously. "I'm asking for your help. I know there is a spell, and I've prepared for it, but I don't know what it is. Yet," he added hopefully.

"There is, indeed, a spell. It takes a great deal of power, concentration, skill and discipline—do you believe that you are lacking in any of these?" He waited for Harry to shake his head. "Good, because this is one of those spells that is either all the way or none of the way—if the time period that is your preferred destination is unclear in your own mind, the spell will backfire, but without returning you to anywhere. The consequences of this are unclear; whether you die or simply exist for the remainder of eternity as a bodiless soul flitting through the ages is unknown. And I would sincerely hate for that to be your fate."

Harry nodded his solemn understanding.

"The wand movement is very important. You must do the first four strokes as if you are drawing a five-pointed star, but you must not draw the fifth. _You must not close the star_. If you do, the spell with trap you in your chosen time, binding you there as if you truly belong. You will be alive, but caged."

"I read about this."

"Show me the wand movement."

Harry performed is faultlessly, adding a jab at the completion of the fourth stroke.

"Excellent, you have done your research well. Yes, that is it. Do you have a memory?"

"Professor McGonagall gave me one," said Harry. The performer of the spell had to have a precise memory of the time to which he or she wished to travel. His would take him to two days before the beginning of the final year at Hogwarts for Lily Evans, his mother, and James Potter, his father.

"I take it she is ignorant of your planned escapade?" mused Dumbledore, smiling a little.

There was, for the third time, a long pause.

"Er…what's the spell?" said Harry, his grip on his wand slightly sweaty. His heart was beginning to beat faster; it was hitting him now, in a rush, precisely what he was about to do. He was going to see his parents…_his parents_…

Dumbledore seemed to be making a case study of Harry as he sat before him, nineteen and a hero, a world-weary man who should still be carrying the boyish exuberance of his youth.

"The spell," he said finally, "is _Preteritus Adveho_."

Harry nodded, oddly calm in the face of all that lay before him—or behind him.

"_Preteritus Adveho_," he muttered once, to be sure.

He stood, gripping his wand firmly, and squared off before the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. He raised his hand.

"Harry? Good luck. And…I hope you find some peace."

But Harry was barely listening. His own heartbeat thundering magnificently in his ears, he made the incomplete star with lightning assurance as he yelled, with all his anger and hope and power and desperation, "_PRETERITUS ADVEHO!_"

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	2. Adequate

**Chapter 2: "Adequate"**

_Strong reasons make strong actions._

– William Shakespeare

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Harry felt very cold, but at the same time was immensely relieved that he did at least have feeling. Though not quite paralyzed, every atom of his being felt so immensely stiff and heavy that he might as well have been.

He had a full two seconds to process all of this before Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, who had been standing at the large window of the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, became violently aware of his presence. In a mere moment he was lying immobilized and bound hand and foot on the floor, victim of two spells.

_Excessive_, thought Harry, but he was unable to speak.

"Merlin!" shrieked McGonagall, her face white and her lips thinner than Harry had ever seen them. Dumbledore, beside her, was looking terrifyingly thunderous in midnight blue robes; he had his wand—the Elder Wand, the most powerful wand in the world—trained mercilessly on the intruder at their feet.

"How did he—" yelled the witch. She was young, and quite pretty; her brown hair fell in long ringlets almost to her waist, and her spectacles made her look wise and kindly rather than cold and severe as Harry remembered them.

"Quiet," said Dumbledore, and McGonagall immediately fell silent. "Who are you?"

Harry blinked, the only movement he was able to make. He watched, helplessly, as the tall wizard swept forward, removed his wand from his hand and stepped back again, never allowing his gaze to flicker from his captive's face.

"I am going to unfreeze you mouth. _Do not try anything_."

Selective unfreezing of the _Petrificus Totallus_ jinx? Interesting. He would have to remember that. The next moment, though Dumbledore had not spoken, he found himself able to speak. He was aware that his body was feeling less heavy, though a lot more paralyzed. He smiled slightly which, by their expressions, the headmaster and his deputy did not appreciate.

"Are you from Voldemort?"

"No."

"He could easily be lying," McGonagall pointed out.

"Hm. Yes." Keeping his wand steady, Dumbledore reached his other hand into his robes and withdrew three vials, two of which he replaced. The third was a clear, colorless potion, which Harry recognized instantly as Veritaserum. He had never had questioning forced upon him in this way, and, rather than objecting, found the prospect to be vaguely interesting.

He remembered something, though, as Dumbledore bent over him. "Could you send Professor McGonagall away? It's in the best interest of both of us that as few people as possible know what I have to say."

The headmaster's brow wrinkled slightly, and it was clear that he was about to refuse; then he looked at Harry once more, and nodded.

"Minerva? Could you leave us for a few minutes?"

"Albus—" she spluttered unbelievingly.

"We can't be _completely_ barbaric"—Dumbledore smiled slightly—"in our questioning methods. We seek to promote peace, remember, not demolish it."

McGonagall looked almost childishly mutinous, but she turned on her heel after a moment and strode out of the room, sweeping past Harry without the slightest downwards glance.

"I hope she's not _too_ upset," said Harry, feeling guilty as remembered her horrible scream when she had thought he was dead on the night of the final battle.

Dumbledore made no response. "Open up," he said, and poured the Veritaserum down his throat. Despite his paralysis, Harry felt an immediate feeling of loose elasticity settle over him, and a sense of immense calm. It was as though he was suspended in that peculiar state between sleep and wakefulness, when you're fuzzily aware of noises around you, but still in control of whether to stay asleep or slip into the real world. He was aware, without seeming able to form an opinion on or feel indignant about the fact there was no emotion left in him.

A voice brought him to the matter at hand. "Did Voldemort send you?" Dumbledore asked again.

The emotionless, unfeeling Harry seemed to be watching the Harry lying on the ground, frozen and bound in ropes.

"No." He didn't _really_ say it; it was as though the answer, found in his brain, was forced to make its way along the paths of his mind to his mouth, and he was abruptly speaking.

"Did you ask Voldemort if he would like you to be here?"

"No."

"Are you a spy of Voldemort's?"

"No."

"Do you wish to be?"

"No."

"Do you, in any way, work to enforce, further or protect Voldemort's power?"

"No."

There was a pause.

"How did you get in here?"

"Professor McGonagall let me in."

"But she was with me!"

This was not a question. Harry lay silent and uncaring on the carpeted floor.

"Can you tell me why you are here?"

"Yes."

"Tell me why you are here."

"To see my parents."

This, thought Dumbledore, was downright _odd_.

"Who are they?"

"Lily and James Potter."

Dumbledore let out a long breath, _Ahh._ "On what _date_ did Professor McGonagall let you into this office?"

"February the second, 1999."

"You are from the future?"

"Yes."

"At least there's still _life_," said Dumbledore. It was a joke—probably—but it had no effect on the drugged man. "What's your name, then?"

"Harry James Potter."

"By the fact that you're here, I can gather…but no, I mustn't ask anymore questions…it is very tempting, though…who will die? Who will live? No, don't answer that!" cried the headmaster as his captive opened his mouth to speak. "Listen, Harry—but the potion is still working. Never mind. Ah, you don't intend any harm on anybody in this time, do you?"

Considering the people who lived now, that was very complicated question. Harry remained silent.

"Very well. You didn't travel _with_ the intention of harming anyone, did you?"

"No."

"All right, then. Ah…" Dumbledore seemed at a loss of what to do while Harry remained under the influence of the Veritaserum; he inspected the other man's wand, then his own, polished it, compared the two's lengths and thickness; whistled the ABC's; and then, with a sigh, pulled _Vial Beasts: A Guide to the Use of Animals in Potions_ from a bookshelf and became, to all appearance, utterly absorbed in its intensely illustrated pages.

Ten minutes later, Harry began blinking rather vigorously and gave a small groan, at which point Dumbledore laid aside the old leather-bound volume and returned to his side.

"Satisfied?" said Harry, slightly tetchily; watching oneself respond to questioning without any control over it all was slightly aggravating.

"Entirely," said Dumbledore briskly. "Ah—here—just let me put you back to rights." Two small flicks of his wand later, Harry again had full use of his arms and legs and the ropes that had bound him disappeared into thin air. "Need I apologize?"

"No," said Harry gravely. "Caution is always wise. In fact—" he smiled slightly "—you taught me that. Multiple times," he added, wincing slightly; if Dumbledore caught the grimace, he said nothing.

"What is it that you plan on doing here, Harry? No matter your age—and don't tell me, that'll spoil the fun—you look too old to be a student."

"A teacher, perhaps?" suggested Harry hopefully. He had thought about this too and, remembering Dumbledore's account of the curse that Riddle had put on the Defense against the Dark Arts position, hoped that he might be able to secure the spot for himself, though it was only two days before the start of term.

The headmaster was frowning slightly, appraising the young man who was now getting to his feet.

"There are no such things as coincidences," he said, sadly. "I had asked Fabian Prewett to teach this year, but, alas, he and his brother were murdered yesterday. To find a teacher, for that subject, and this late, in these times… I was resigning myself to the possibility of having to fill the spot myself, at least for a short while. You do, I hope, have credentials?"

Harry, who had been gazing at his battered gold watch—once the property of Fabian Prewett—and feeling slightly sick, nodded. From an inner pocket in his robes he pulled out several sheets of paper—his DADA exam overviews, acquired from the Ministry, for his O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s; the results for the various Auror exams he had taken so far; and, folded and stained in such a way that would probably have caused Percy Weasley a heart attack, the certificate he had received with his Order of Merlin, First Class.

Dumbledore studied each briefly, his bushy silver eyebrows raised. "Adequately impressive," he said emotionlessly after several moments. "I think you will do quite nicely, Harry Potter."

Very quietly, Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. "Thank you, sir," he said, a note of happiness evident in his voice as he offered his hand to be shaken, which Dumbledore did.

"A pseudonym, I think, is in order; you look too much like James as it is. And your eyes…I wonder if anyone will work anything out."

Harry ignored that latter part of his commentary. "A false name? Er…I used Exx on my first ever field assignment…and enough people have called me that since that I'll be able to respond to it."

"Exx it is, then," said Dumbledore cheerily. "Harry Exx…I think we're in for an interesting year. Although," he added, apparently as an afterthought, "not _too_ interesting, you understand? You mustn't try to change your present, no matter what it is."

"Yes," said Harry dryly; "So I've been told."

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**A little more desperately than last time: **_**Please**_** review!!**


	3. Feast

**Chapter 3: Feast**

_May today mark the beginning of many new joys and accomplishments…_

– author unknown

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Harry stood at the window in the depressingly bare Defense against the Dark Arts office, staring out across the darkened Hogwarts grounds at a too-familiar lake, whose surface was gently furrowed by a north-eastern wind. He had been standing in the same spot for over an hour now, his thoughts churning busily.

Hogwarts! He had been almost glad to see the last of it a year ago. He, along with many other seventeen-year-olds whose education had been disrupted by being forced into hiding or the final Battle of Hogwarts, had taken only a half-year, from September to January, to achieve his N.E.W.T.s. Hogwarts, with its many physical scars, also now carried some very painful memories: the Astronomy Tower, from which Dumbledore had been thrown to meet his death at its base; the ruined hallway where Fred had met his end too young; the Great Hall where the bodies of so many friends had lain stretched out in death…

Well, he was back now. Harry raised a hand to rub his forehead, as he often did when nervous or worried or uncomfortable. He could feel the slightly raised lightning bolt, though he knew no one else could see it; a simple silver chain around his neck was spelled with a glamour to hide the old scar. He hated the attention it brought to him, the instant recognition, the clamor, the chaos.

_No one knows who I am here_, thought Harry. It was hard to believe, like sinking back in time—or forward—to his ten-year-old self, who had been so utterly ignored and unloved.

He sighed and turned away from the window. It was too dark to see now, anyways; glancing at his watch, he read "10:22" with satisfaction, and strode soundlessly from the room.

So far, he had avoided seeing anybody, even Dumbledore, inside the castle; it was actually easy, what with the buzz of returning teachers, unpacking and settling in. He had closeted himself in his allotted quarters and snuck out at night to the kitchens for food, and returned just as silently. He had a feeling that his nighttime wanderings were did not pass unmarked; Harry could _feel_ the power of the defenses on the school, and only the Marauder's Map—brought back twenty-four years in time, along with the fervent hope that Filch had already confiscated its counterpart—allowed him to skirt the Aurors who patrolled the corridors.

Returning to his rooms a half-hour later, his stomach quieted and contented, Harry lay himself down in the bedroom off his office and closed his eyes in a pathetic attempt at sleep. Tomorrow. Just one night—no more than eighteen hours—and he would be seeing his parents, and Sirius, and Remus…and Snape…

He awoke the next morning at exactly seven A.M., to the magically transmitted message of a staff meeting in the Great Hall in "forty-five minutes, precisely." He rose and dressed without fuss, pulling on simple black robes and checking that his glamour was still working in the mirror. Dumbledore had given him three sets of black robes, a wizard's hat, a pair of dragon-hide gloves, a cloak and a set of dress robes, and refused to allow Harry to convince him to take it out of his wages.

The staff meeting, as it turned out, was more of a meet-and-greet; he shook hands with two dozen other teachers, chatting politely, and then came abruptly face-to-face with a fierce-looking Professor McGonagall, who gripped his hand far too tightly.

"Harry Exx?"

"Er…yes?" winced Harry, whose fingers were being pulverized.

"Listen…I trust Dumbledore. But sometimes I don't always trust Dumbledore's trusting. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"…Definitely…"

"Excellent. Understand, _Professor_ Exx, that I care for nothing so much as the welfare of my students. I find it hard to…_rely_, perhaps, on somebody who is able to break into Albus Dumbledore's office in what is perhaps the most secure institution in the world. Are you aware that I am an Animagus? That my form is a cat?"

"Ah…no, sorry. My hand…"

"Answer me this, Professor Exx: which came first, the instinct or the cat?"

Harry frowned and then grinned in rapid succession. "Are you _flirting_ with me, Minerva?" he demanded roguishly. The emerald eyes behind his spectacles twinkled brightly as he brought their still-clasped hands to his mouth and kissed the back of hers.

McGonagall looked a rather unbecoming cross between thunderstruck, horrified, vicious, and—flattered? Harry smiled broadly, released her now-limp hand, and strode purposefully from the Hall, shuddering. He wondered if that would work to get his present-day McGonagall off his back…

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It was seven o'clock at night. Harry, seated three spots to the left of Dumbledore at the full and quietly chatting staff table, surveyed the four empty tables in front of him. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin, with their innumerable benches and many memories, both fond and painful: sitting down to the cheers of his new house…his first broomstick…Slytherin table sitting in shocked defeat at the abrupt loss of the House Cup…the ringing silence after Ron's horrible Howler…Hermione and Hagrid, newly restored and freed, striding towards him after the defeat of Riddle's diary, and the announcement that exams were cancelled…Hagrid earning the position of Care of Magical Creatures…his name being drawn from the Goblet of Fire…Dumbledore's end-of-year speech in fourth year…the appointment of Dolores Unmbridge…Luna, with a massive lion for a hat…Snape as the DADA teacher, sitting smug and horrid at the staff table…the quiet, stricken atmosphere following Dumbledore's death…the bodies of Fred, Colin, Remus and Tonks…and, only fifty feet and twenty-two years away, the final defeat of Lord Voldemort. Harry closed his eyes for a moment beneath the weight of the flashbacks.

He half-heard, half-felt through the very soles of his feet the approach of the several hundred students of Hogwarts. How odd, that his parents were amongst them, that they and Sirius and Remus were causing that noise, and those vibrations…

The door swung opened and they spilled in, splitting and flowing towards their House tables. Almost immediately, he caught sight of the burnished bronze of Lily's hair, and his breath caught. She wasn't very tall, but she was very pretty; her emerald green eyes, the same that Harry saw every morning in the mirror, seemed to blaze like a beacon at him. She was walking with two friends—she was throwing her head back in laughter—she was sitting now, beaming about at the Great Hall—she was scowling at another boy—

James Potter! His father, standing beside Lily, bent slightly to speak to her, his messy dark hair falling forwards… He was lean and tall, with a brilliant grin and narrow, long-fingered hands precisely identical to his son's who sat, unknown, no more than forty feet away.

A friend had taken hold of James's elbow and, grinning, was steering the other boy away from Lily. It was Sirius, looking rather heartbreakingly dissimilar in his youth to the tortured adult Harry had known. He was an inch or two taller than James, with broader shoulders; he was very handsome, with a haughtily charming grin and casually messy dark hair.

Just behind them, crowded back by the narrow gap between the tables, came Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. The former was of medium height, a little stocky and bordering on too skinny, with sandy hair and a shy, nervous sort of smile. The latter was a plump boy who seemed to still be years from puberty; his eyes, small and beady, were all too familiar. Harry felt a sickening swoop of hatred and a nasty urge to strike him dead on the spot.

It took a few minutes for everyone to be seated, and twenty more for the Sorting to be over. Everyone then turned expectant gazes towards the headmaster, who rose, smiling, to address the Hall.

"Welcome all!" he called enthusiastically; the students cheered and shouted back greetings. "A new year lies before us. Just think! Tests, exams, homework, two-foot essays, _endless_ hours in the library…"

Everyone groaned.

"…And, of course, rule-breaking, and wizardry, and Quidditch, and Hogsmeade!"

There was a smattering of chuckles and cheers.

"We have a new teacher with us today. Many of you are aware of the format already. He will be teaching…"

"_Defense against the Dark Arts!_" more than half the students bellowed.

"Yes, yes, well, we do seem to run through them. It is with deep pleasure that I introduce to you all Professor Harry Exx, who will be with us for this year."

"X?" yelled a student, laughter evident in his voice. "As in, the letter? Harry _X_? What is that?"

"No, Mr. Black," said Harry, standing and smiling down at the grinning face of Sirius Black. "Exx. With two X's."

"Harry X X? How'd you know my name?"

"_No_. E-X-X. Headmaster, are we allowed to give detentions on the first day of term?" he asked, turning towards the older wizard and smiling.

Dumbledore's long beard twitched. "Certainly, Professor."

"Excellent. Now, Mr. Black…"

Sirius held up both hands in surrender, grinning impishly. "Look, I'm a good boy! See?"

Harry laughed and sat back down.

Dumbledore clapped once to rid the Hall of the growing noise. "Now! I must ask you to be patient for just a half-hour more…there's a good deal yet to get through before the feast!"

"_Professor!_" groaned the Hall.

"Kidding, all…Let's eat!"

Immediately, the gold platters were piled high with foods; the dishes with sauces and dressings and butter; the pitchers with water and juices and milk; the baskets with soft rolls and bread. There were hearty cheers and an immediate burst of laughter and chattering as the students began to devour the feast.

Professor Sprout, seated to his right, turned towards him and smiled. "You've survived your first run-in with the Marauders quite well, I would say! How _did_ you know who Mr. Black was?"

Harry evaded the question for the second time. "The Marauders?"

"Oh—" she chuckled. "A nickname given to four students—seventh years now—notorious pranksters—there they are. Black is one of them. See the two to his left and the one to his right? That's Peter Pettrigrew—farthest over—and then James Potter. Potter and Black mostly run the other two. And to the right, that's Remus Lupin. Good students, all, you know—well, except Pettigrew, maybe—but a bit of a handful. I'll be sad to see them go at the end of this year."

Harry smiled politely, and Sprout, after a pause in which she clearly expected the other to speak, turned to speak to the professor on her other side.

At the Gryffindor table, two boys were talking rapidly with full mouths.

"_Another_ Defense teacher! Honestly, where do they find them all? Surely they're extinct by now?" exclaimed Sirius, sweeping butter over a fat roll.

"Planning another initiation, Padfoot?" James drawled, grinning around a mouthful of chicken leg.

"Certainly! You know, you'd _think_ I'd've run out of ideas by now…"

James laughed. "You'd _think_. Wait, d'you mean _you'd_ think? Never…"

"I think we should go for something a little more…traditional this year. Something along the lines of impending insanity."

James's smile was suddenly secretive and sly. "Omens?"

Sirius grinned wolfishly. "Omens."

"You know, James, that badge is supposed to be _on_ your robes," said Remus from the other side of Sirius.

James scowled darkly at his plate and drew a palm-sized badge from a pocket, upon which was embroidered the letters "HB".

"It's not _fair_, Moony. Everybody knows you should've gotten it—or Frank Longbottom, in Ravenclaw. Look at how much trouble I've gotten in! And I wasn't even prefect."

"You actually sound _sulky_," said Remus, laughing. "C'mon, Prongs. You had the best marks last year, except for Lily. And you had fewer detentions than any other year. Dumbledore knows what he's doing."

"Ugh!" said Sirius. "You're making him sound far too good, Moony. Prongs, you take the bed farthest from me this year—I don't want you catching me at anything…"

"Stop it," said James sullenly, tucking the badge back inside his robes.

"Ickle Potty, moping about being Head Boy?" called Lily, who was seated across the table and a few seats down. "To think, I'll actually _have_ to talk to you this year…I shudder to even think of it…" which she did, rather dramatically.

"Cruelty, Evans, is unbecoming," said James with a swift grin. "Is it true we're sharing a bathroom this year?"

Lily glared. "You disgust me, Potter, you really do," she growled, and turned pointedly back to the friend seated to her right. The friend said something, giggling, that caused Lily's scowl to deepen.

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**So I've always wondered how James was Head Boy—as Rowling stated in the first book—without ever being a Prefect (as stated in the fifth). I suppose it was a slipup…but in any case, he's Head Boy in this fic. Enjoy!**


	4. Class

**Chapter 4: Class**

_Suspicion is the beginning of wisdom, and of madness._

– Mason Cooley

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Breakfast on September the second was a busy affair, as Heads of Houses handed out timetables and exchanged quick words with students whom they hadn't seen since June. Harry, however, picked at his food in silence. Nervousness was setting into him for the first time since the whole plan had been hatched as he contemplated what he would be teaching his classes today—and, indeed, who was in those classes.

_There are no such things as coincidences,_ Dumbledore had said. "What about irony?" Harry asked moodily of his eggs Benedict. The first class of his first day of teaching was none other than Seventh Year Gryffindors.

"Harry Exx!" a too-jolly—and far too familiar—voice thundered in his ear. Not much made Harry jump anymore, but plenty annoyed him. Scowling slightly, he turned in his chair to face Horace Slughorn, who had plopped his massive self down into the vacant seat next to him. Harry was sure he heard the chair groan ominously.

"Professor Slughorn, correct?" he said politely nonetheless, offering his hand. They shook.

"Horace, please, my boy! You _are_ still young enough to be 'my boy', aren't you?" he added, squinting at his younger colleague.

"I'd prefer Harry," he responded coolly. He was _not_ in the mood for Slughorn. Had he ever been? he wondered as he rose abruptly. "I'm sorry, er, Horace, but I really must go. First day teaching…you understand…"

"Certainly," said Slughorn, not bothering to stand as well in favor of the spiced Italian sausages he had just spotted behind the croissants. "Ah…good luck…"

Harry said nothing; he was already halfway down the aisle between the staff table and the Great Hall doors. Over at the Gryffindor table, Peter Pettigrew, who'd been assigned the duty of watchman, prodded James sharply.

"There he goes!" he hissed, his watery, beady eyes flitting between the retreating form of his professor and his friend in clear hopes of praise.

"How'd you know he'd leave early, Prongs?" said Remus.

"Magic," James answered, clearly preoccupied with watching Professor Exx's exit. "Er—figuratively speaking, that is. Ah…intuition, I guess…He's gone! Right, Sirius. Ready?"

"_Am I ready?_" spluttered Sirius dramatically. "Me? Sirius Black? Marauder? Animagi? And you ask me if I'm _ready_?"

James rolled his eyes. "Look mean, then, Padfoot my mangy cur! You know…show some fang…some slobber…though that shouldn't be too hard to come by if you're stalking a bloke…"

"The insolence!" cried Sirius. "I'll have you know, _Prongs_, that it's only the second day back and already two girls have told me the new password for the Prefects' bathroom. Honestly, why Dumbledore didn't just make me one to start with, I'll never know…"

"Yes, well, while you're monologuing the target is getting away. I can't believe you're passing up a chance to prank—"

"—to gloat about girls? Anytime, mate!" But he stood and began to follow the new professor even as he spoke. "Bring my bag to Defense, hey?" he called over his shoulder.

James waved his acquiescence and returned to his breakfast. It wasn't long, though, before he became aware of a significant presence standing behind him. He twisted in his seat and grinned broadly; it was Lily. Before he could open his mouth to speak, however, she was already talking—but not to him.

"Hey, Remus. Want to come see the Head rooms? Professor McGonagall just gave me the password."

There were so many things wrong with that string of sentences that James spluttered disbelievingly. "_Exscuse me_?" he yelped. "I believe _I'm_ the Head Boy. And McGonagall gave _you_ the password but not _me_? What is this? This is—"

"He whines worse than my sister," said Lily contemptuously to Remus, who snorted. "Come along, I suppose. The password's _Studious_, anyways."

"I wonder if there's a hint in that," said Remus.

Lily laughed, a little louder than necessary. "For whom, I wonder?"

"Ha, ha," grumbled James. "And anyways, there's only twenty minutes until class. If I've learned anything at Hogwarts, it's never to cut explorations short."

"When did you learn _that_?" said Lily. "No—don't tell me. I don't want to know. Very well, I'll go during lunch." And she wandered on down the table to speak with a lonely-looking first-year girl.

"Ha!" cried James. "If I know Lily—"

Remus snorted. James glared.

"_If I know Lily_," he repeated, sharply, "then she'll be going after school, not during lunch! She's trying to trick me! A false trail! She's—"

"—a devilish yet very sexy little minx whose devious wit and astounding intelligence draw you further into her seductive charm with every passing day? So I've heard. Now eat your breakfast."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

One of Sirius's many little-known talents was stalking. He was unsure which came first, the Animagi form or the aptitude for following others without their knowledge, but he tried to make a practice of _not_ using it. For pranks like this, however, it came in very handy.

Harry Exx walked about fifty feet ahead of him, appearing to be deep in thought. Sirius grinned, checked behind him, then dodged through a little-used door. When he emerged a moment later, it was as a black bear-sized dog with enormous ivory teeth and yellow eyes that bore a startling resemblance to the Grimm—something he was about to utilize. He growled experimentally, then loped silently ahead to close the distance between him and his professor.

Barely six inches behind him, Sirius crept closer still and breathed hard on Harry's ankles. When the man turned, as expected, he crouched low and snarled, feeling hot white saliva dribbling from his jaws in strings.

Exx's eyes narrowed. Sirius gave a quick lunge forwards, snapping his teeth together a bare inch from his professor's hand, and then feinted swiftly backwards again, growling.

"I have two options before me," said Exx, far too conversationally for a man who could be mauled at any moment by a vicious bear-sized beast. "Act scared, and allow you to feel that your prank was a complete success, or else give a good dozen detentions—not that you'd ever be able to serve them, if Dumbledore knew there was an unregistered Animagus at Hogwarts."

Sirius's growl died immediately. He sat down hard.

"Or, perhaps, a third option: congratulate you on an original idea, your astounding achievement at such a young age, and have you be intimidated by me. On second thought," he mused, "scratch the last one. I don't think intimidation would become you." He laughed.

Sirius cocked his head.

"Yes, yes. Listen, it was a good attempt. I'm just well-versed in Animagi. I'll see you in—" he checked his slightly battered gold watch "—fifteen minutes."

And he turned and strode away, leaving a greatly bemused Sirius Black sitting in the hallway with just one thought reverberating in his head: _Oh shit_.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Sirius skulked outside the Great Hall doorways, unwilling to go inside in case Professor Exx had returned to finish his breakfast. The moment James emerged, he grabbed his arm and drew him roughly from the crowd, Remus and Peter following behind.

"Well? How'd it go?" said James expectantly. "Here's your bag, by the way."

Sirius didn't take it. "_He knows_," he hissed; he sounded panicked, his hand gestures were frantic, and he was glancing around too much. "He knew I was an Animagi right away—no, wait, he said he might not do anything about it—oh, shit. James, I think he knew who I was too—he said he'd meet me in twenty minutes, and he knows I have Defense first period, doesn't he? This is a _disaster_. What if Dumbledore finds out? We'll be expelled, and he knew it—he hinted he might tell him—"

"Sirius!" James cut across him sharply, and threw the incoherently squeaking Peter a silencing look. "Relax. Look, he was probably just making educated guesses. If he doesn't believe in the Grimm and there's no dogs at Hogwarts, he'd obviously assume you're an Animagi, right? And it could only be an older student—you know how long it took us. And it would have to be either a Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff's wouldn't dare break the rules so much and Slytherin's don't have the brains… He was just grasping at straws, okay? Just...go to class, and act normal. Alright?"

Sirius took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Right. Okay. Sure…"

"We're going to be late!" said Remus. "Just keep on his good side, you three."

They hurried along to class, Sirius finally taking his bag. "Another thing," said Sirius. "I just noticed this morning; he must've been too far away before. This Exx bloke—he looks a lot like you, James."

James frowned, but didn't have the time to say anything in return. They'd reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts room and swept inside, only to see that the entire rest of the class was there, including the teacher. They'd been late probably hundreds of times in the past six years, but this time, nerves high-strung as they were, they froze guiltily in the doorway.

"Relax," said Harry, grinning. "You still have time—take a seat."

Only Remus didn't wince. The only seats left were three directly in front of the teacher, and one off to itself in the very back corner, where a spider had built a nest from the chair to a curtain. Peter, naturally, was shunted to that one.

Harry watched all this with a critical eye. Peter, he thought with distaste, looked downright—well, distasteful. He quite glad that he was seated as far from him as possible and that the four he most wanted to see were closest—Lily always sat towards the front and, to her very evident chagrin, this arrangement had found her next to James.

"Excellent," he said, once everyone was settled. "My name, as you know, is Professor Harry Exx. Ah…I've had a good bit of teaching experience, but nothing to formal as this. Today, we'll be learning about—Animagi!" He grinned at James and Sirius, seated side by side. They met his gaze unflinchingly; clearly, they had more guts than he'd originally assumed. "Kidding," he said. "No, today's lesson will be a review. We're going to be practicing five of the most useful spells employed in the defense against the dark arts. They're fairly simple ones, but their value cannot be underestimated. Or, in the case of your enemies, overestimated. Can anyone offer me an idea of what one might be?"

Three or four students raised their hands. "Yes, Lily?"

"_Stupefy_?"

It was the first time he'd heard her voice spoken from her living body that he could remember. He smiled. "Very good. _Stupefy_ is a stunning spell; it immobilizes anyone or anything hit by it."

"But that's fifth-year stuff!" a student seated towards the back said. "Who would use that against a Death Eater?"

"I would," said Harry coolly, "and I have. If it's fifth year stuff, come to the front of the class and demonstrate, if you will. What's your name?"

"Max Lalonde," the boy said sulkily, rising and coming, clearly unwillingly, towards his professor. Harry, meanwhile, drew a clear box from a drawer in his desk; it contained a half-dozen large, black spiders, an idea given to him by Mad-Eye Moody, or the impostor of him. Deftly, he lifted the lid and caught one by its hind leg, placing it on the empty table at the front of the class but maintaining his grip.

"You'll need you're wand for this, Mr. Lalonde," said Harry; the class snickered.

Scowling all the more, Max drew his; it was unusually short. Harry released the spider.

"_Stupefy!_" Max yelled. Immediately, Harry saw several problems. His aim was off; his pronunciation was too guttural; the beam of light was too thin and too dark a red. The spell burnt a cigarette-like hole in the table some three inches to the left of the intended target. Harry scooped up the spider and replaced it in the box.

"You're saying it wrong," he said immediately. "It's _Stupefy_, see, you're putting too much emphasis on the _fy_. And you're gripping your wand wrong; you have to whip a bit, like this." He drew his own wand and demonstrated. "Your aim was off, too. Now, watch." He withdrew the spider for a second time, placed it on the table again, and said, clearly, "_Stupefy!_"

The spider, which had been attempting to scuttle away, froze immediately and keeled over.

"_Renervate_," he murmured. "Try again," he instructed Max.

"_Stupefy!_" the student said for the second time. This time, the spider froze, but only for a few seconds.

Harry put it back with its fellows and then studied Max shrewdly. "You have an excellent sense of correction," he said. "That was a very good second attempt."

Max returned to his seat.

"Are there any other spells? Yes—ah—"

"Remus Lupin. _Protego_?"

"Yes. _Protego_ is a shield spell; it blocks and, if made correctly, returns enemy spells. Now—ah—James, try to jinx me."

"Gladly, Professor," said James, grinning broadly. He rose, drew his wand, and stood at the ready. Then, though he didn't speak, there was a sudden flash of light.

"_Protego!_" yelled Harry; the force of his Shield Charm caused the hair of the students in the first row to stand on end. James was suddenly hanging upside down in the air as though suspended by one leg. The class roared with laughter.

Harry performed the countercurse. "Clever, Mr. Potter," he said once James, looking significantly more rumpled, had regained his feet. "Nonverbal will be reviewed in detail this year, by the way. Can anyone say what might have given James here away?"

"The light?" said the boy next to Max sarcastically, but Lily raised her hand again.

"Legilimency?"

"Legilimency, yes. It's an art, a sort of wandless magic, that can be developed with practice and perseverance. It allows a witch or wizard to read their opponent's mind and predict the spell they will use—even a nonverbal one, as demonstrated with Mr. Potter—and react suitably."

"And you can do this—thing?" said James, shooting Sirius a meaningful look.

"A little. I've never been much good at it. Now, back to spells…no one?" he surveyed the class skeptically, and then grinned. "I won't call you lot scared—I know the reputation of Gryffindors—but come on…"

"_Reducto_?" said Sirius, without bothering to raise his hand.

"That is indeed one, Mr. Black. The Reductor Curse destroys whatever it comes in contact with; the stronger the spell, the more damage done. Care to demonstrate? On the table, please, not a spider."

"Certainly," said Sirius, without any of Max's reservations.

His spell was faultless; Harry complimented on the utter destruction of the table, his wand movement, and his confidence.

"Although overconfidence can certainly cause a good deal of harm, confidence, as I'm sure you all have learned by now, is a necessary part of spellwork," he told the class. "Any other volunteers?"

There were none. Harry, sighing deeply, told them. "We have, so far, _Stupefy_,_ Protego_,and _Reducto_. There is also the Impedimenta Curse and the Expelliarmus Charm. Yes, yes," he said to the outcry at the simplicity at the latter, "I know everyone thinks that the Expelliarmus Charm is ridiculously simple. It has also saved my life more times than I like to think of." He glanced at his watch. "Class is nearly over. Your homework is to write an essay on those five spells, explaining their effects and naming at least one witch or wizard who has used it to save their life of that of another. Trust me, it won't be half as hard as it sounds." Harry had a brief vision of what those essays would be like if assigned twenty-five years in the future. _Expelliarmus Charm: Used by Harry Potter to defeat Lord Voldemort_. "It will be due on Friday. Now, is there anything anyone would like to ask me?"

A girl whispered something to her friend, who giggled and raised her hand. "Professor, how old are you?"

Harry grimaced. "I'd been hoping that wouldn't come up. I turned nineteen last July."

A torrent of murmurs and giggles swept the class. "Are you _qualified_?" said the boy sitting next to Max who'd spoken so sarcastically earlier.

Harry looked him straight in the eye and said, clearly, "More than you could know."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The Marauders were uncharacteristically silent as they walked to their next class. Then, all at the exact same moment—

"He _definitely_ knows we're Animagi," said Sirius.

"You and him look identical," said Peter.

"Why'd you go and use nonverbal? Are you an idiot?" demanded Remus.

"Good lesson, what'd you guys think? _I'm sitting next to Lily!_" cried James.

"Right," said Sirius, laughing. "I suppose it _was_ a good lesson. He didn't seem to mind that you used nonverbal. No one cares that you're sitting next to Lily. And Prongs, you two really do look exactly the same."

"But his eyes are green!" said James. "And—blimey—_nineteen_. You wouldn't think Dumbledore'd let someone that young teach Defense Against the Dark Arts in the middle of a war."

"That 'more than you could know' stuff sounded pretty convincing, though," said Remus.

"I wish we had the Map," said Sirius longingly. "So we could really look up on him. It's like we're blind without it."

There was a chorus of agreement at this.

"Back to the old-fashioned way, I guess," said James. "There really does seem to be something odd about him. I mean, he's nineteen; how many chances could he have had to use _Expelliarmus_ against Death Eaters? And more importantly: _how does he know we're Animagi?_ It's not like he's ever seen me in form."

"And to think we thought Seventh Year would be dull!" said Sirius exultantly.

"Ha!" laughed Remus. "When did we _ever_ think that?"


	5. Interrogation's Answers

**Huh. Apparently forcefully demanding others to review my story actually works. I'll have to try it again next time the review count per chapter gets low…anywho, I really do love reviews. They make me feel guilty when I'm on the computer and not writing, thereby making me update more (and faster!). So tones of thanks, and (much less crankily than last time) review!**

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**Chapter 5: Interrogation's Answers**

_It's a dog-eat-dog world, and I'm wearing MilkBone shorts._

– Kelly Allen

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Adjusting to life as a teacher at Hogwarts in the past was both more difficult and far easier than Harry would have ever thought. Most of the students, even some of the Slytherins, were so cowed by the horrible details of the war that they had heard that they actually put a decent amount of effort into learning Defense Against the Dark Arts—especially once they figured out that Professor Exx wasn't a complete joke, as some of DADA's past teachers had been.

Harry, as others had learned years before, was a natural teacher. He had a good deal of experience to go on, and it had been years since he'd perfected the spells he was now teaching his students. He was young, but admirable; his cool dealings with troublemakers and easy praise of well-done magic quickly made him a favorite. The force of his Shield Charms was "awesome"; his intimate knowledge of what it was like to be under the Imperius Curse was "amazing". His air of mystery kept his classes alert, listening for further hints of his battles and scuffles.

In fact, Harry reflected as he nursed a cup of tea late at night on the fourth day of term, it wasn't the kids he was having troubles with at all. It was the teachers. He didn't know quite what it was, though he was sure that it was at least partially his fault. But what did they care that he didn't want to exchange deep, heartfelt conversations with them? McGonagall's "welcome" had been far from welcoming; and having _anyone_ who would put up with him should keep Slughorn happy, whether that person was his newest colleague or not. Dumbledore was polite, but kept his distance for reasons neither had to discuss—Harry's potential for changing the future. It was Sprout's own fault that she didn't now speak to Harry after their initial conversation during which he had been so distracted. Some of the teachers, he was sure, were beginning to be envious over how much Harry's students—particularly the youngest ones—enjoyed his classes. But perhaps that last bit was just ego…

"Sod it," he muttered, and took an extra-large gulp of his tea, causing him to swear loudly when it burned his tongue.

And the Marauders? He rather wished he'd just let Sirius carry out his prank, act scared and run away. Now those four were suspicious of him, he was sure of it. More than once he'd glanced up during mealtimes to find one or more of them watching him. They would hold his gaze for a moment—bravery, recklessness, a warning?—and then go back to whatever they had been doing. When he had first devised the idea of traveling back in time, before he'd ever begun his research, he had imagined himself forming some sort of bond with his parents and their old friends. And now? It was time to reevaluate. It was wonderful to see them, but he'd misjudged the past and its people. Living no more than five hundred meters from his parents, he was no more close to being one of their family than he had been since one.

* * *

"This place is seriously _sick_," said Sirius, lounging back in his chair in the Heads' tower. His feet were up on a desk and his wand was out; he was idly practicing Transfiguring various objects into miniature replicas of himself, which wandered around on the floor or tables yelling amusing little catchphrases. It was their free double period on Friday morning, and he was not wasting it with homework.

"Lily'll have a heart attack if she sees those," said James distractedly; he was busy completing an essay for Potions, his least favorite subject.

"Nah; she likes me, remember?"

James pulled a face. Sometimes he did forget; it wasn't until last year, when Lily and Sirius had found themselves to be the only two Gryffindors continuing Astronomy into the N.E.W.T. level, that his best friend and longtime crush had discovered that they actually found each other's company to be tolerable.

"Wish _I'd_ kept at Astronomy," he muttered.

"Don't you just?" laughed Sirius. "But you know, I think she's actually warming to you—or at least ascending above subzero."

James opened his mouth, but the tapestry that served as the entrance to the Heads' tower being pulled aside stilled his tongue. It was Lily, grinning broadly, looking very happy.

"Hogsmeade this weekend, already! Oh—it's you. What're you doing here, Potter?"

James rolled his eyes. "_Head Boy_, remember? C'mon, Sirius isn't even a Prefect and you don't say anything!"

"Yes, but I actually happen to like Sirius."

The aforementioned Animagi stuck his tongue out at his friend, grinning.

"You have _got_ to be—"

"For Merlin's sake, Potter, I'm just antagonizing you! By the way, seeing as how you've let Sirius in, you don't mind if I bring friends here, do you?"

James gaped at her. "Is this _Lily Evans_ asking for my consent on something?" he gasped.

Lily's glared. "I might detest the very oxygen you inhale, Potter, but I do practice a little thing called _consideration_. Look it up," she growled, "you might find that it solves some of your troubles!" And she stormed off up the stairs.

"Hey, Evans!" James bellowed up after her. "Want to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

"I'd rather die!" came her answering scream.

Sirius, utterly unaffected by this routine, cocked his head. "I think I can hear her laughing. And I definitely think she was teasing you earlier."

"Yeah, maybe," said James glumly. Sirius frowned; six months ago this news, even as an obvious lie, would have overjoyed him. "Listen—you know Julia Hess?"

"Blonde? Little? Ravenclaw Chaser? Laugh like a hyena on drugs?"

"That's the one. I'm going to ask her out tonight. To Hogsmeade, I guess."

Sirius, for once unsure of what to say, contented himself with turning one of his miniatures a brilliant shade of crimson. James, face drawn, pulled out his Defense essay to finish its conclusion.

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry turned; it was Dumbledore, coming towards him with a smile.

"Are your classes going as well as I hear?" the headmaster asked.

"Quite, thank you. Seventh Year Slytherins are a bit, er…but I'm sure you already know whatever I could tell you?"

"I'm not as omniscient as I'd have some believe, but yes, I do know most of what you speak of. Listen, Harry. Hogsmeade is this weekend for years three through—but you already know about that, don't you? …Anyways, teachers often go as well, and, if you'd allow, I'd advise you to accompany them. I've noticed that you seem to be running into some…complications of sorts with what must have been your original plan. I don't want to enable disaster, but I think you do deserve a chance to be happy."

_Shrewd as always_, thought Harry. He smiled at Dumbledore. "Thank you, sir."

It was with a much lighter heart that he set off to his room for his first class of the day—fifth-year Slytherins at eleven o'clock. This was a new lot; he had twenty-eight different classes, and there were still several he hadn't yet taught.

He arrived with ten minutes to spare, and set about mentally organizing his upcoming lesson. He had decided on jinxes as an opening unit for his fourth- and fifth-years; who didn't love jinxes, after all?

The Slytherins arrived in a single mass, a crowd of loud, laughing teenagers who filled the seats from back to front. Harry rose from his desk, smiling, to face them. Though it was sometimes difficult, he knew not to be biased towards these young witches and wizards, no matter what crimes he knew they would grow up to commit. He had recognized a few names and faces so far—

His thoughts were cut short as his gaze was caught by a skinny, dark-haired boy with heavy-lidded eyes. He knew that face—both the rough structure, which he had memorized off Sirius's face, and from the few photographs he had seen of Regulus Black.

Regulus Black! He was more of a hero than many who had been heralded as such in connection with Voldemort's downfall, yet few even remembered that he had ever existed. Staring at the small boy before him, Harry felt a jumbled surge of pity, admiration, gratitude, and sorrow. He had died so young—and Sirius had spoken of him with such distaste—

"What're you looking at?" snarled Regulus, jerking him violently from his ruminations.

"Nothing," said Harry mildly. "And I'd advise you to watch yourself in this classroom, Mr.—?"

"Black. Regulus Black." His gaze was angry.

"Ahh…then your brother is—"

"I don't have a brother!" spat Regulus. He was shaking; he looked almost ill. Harry suddenly recalled Sirius—his Sirius, long-haired, sunken-eyed—standing in front of the massive family tree of the Blacks. 'Stupid git,' he'd said of his brother…but also, he'd counted, briefly, running away from home at sixteen, and how his mother had blasted him from their documented lineage. Sirius was seventeen now; said disownment must have occurred within the past year. Who, or what, was Regulus so angry at? Sirius? His mother? His heritage?

He'd been doing far too much cross-examining lately, Harry decided, briefly rubbing his hidden scar. There was a class of Slytherins to be taught; he could reflect on Regulus's peculiar rage in his free time, which he undoubtedly had far too much of.

Many things quickly became apparent as the class immediately started in on the planned jinxes unit. For one, Harry solidified his earlier ideas: just as he couldn't hate those like Pettigrew who would grow into murderers and traitors, neither could he honor Regulus for the courageous savior he would be. The younger Black was, as Ron might have worded it, a "snot-nose brat": he had a comment, usually sarcastic and always vicious, regarding everything; his expression while Harry taught was perpetually bored; he leered at his teacher's examples and smirked when he was told to be quite. At last, when things had progressed far beyond what almost any other professor would have endured, Harry gave him detention.

Meanwhile, something else had come to his attention. Regulus had a startling aptitude, not for jinxes, but rather for counter-jinxes. While his performance in producing the former was no more than adequate, he exhibited an astounding talent for the latter. His memorization of wand movements, pronunciations and the pairings of the jinxes and counter-jinxes was no less than impressive. Was this, Harry wondered, a part of Regulus's monumental failure as a Death Eater? Had he been shunned within their dark ranks because his talent lay, not in destruction, but in the reconstructive art of healing and mending?

When he complimented the boy, however, Regulus growled.

"Be sure to stay after class to arrange detention with me," he added, gritting his teeth.

Regulus did, standing beside the door glaring at his teacher and clutching his bag so tightly that Harry noticed that his knuckles were white. He sighed. Why couldn't everyone in the past be just as he had imagined they would be?

"Detention?" Regulus reminded him, his face twisted nastily.

"Right. Er—seven to eight thirty tonight. Polish the plaques in the Trophy Room. _Without_ magic." That, he thought with an inward smile, should make Ron's job easier in eighteen years or so.

"Sure," his student snarled furiously. He turned on heel to leave—only to find his way blocked than none other than Sirius. Harry watched, his chest constricting, as a world of emotions flitted across his young godfather's face—shock, anger, confusion, revulsion, pity, love, hatred…then, in a flash, it was all gone, and the older brother faced the younger with a face as closed and impenetrable as a Gringott's vault door. It was Regulus, not Sirius, Harry noted, that stepped aside to allow the other to pass. He did, James, Remus and Peter following in his suddenly thunderous wake. All of them, even Peter, were taller than the youngest Black, and Harry felt a surge of pity. He remembered, abruptly, facing an adult, wrathful Sirius while he struggled, short, skinny, and helpless…

In a flash, Regulus was gone.

Harry cleared his throat. "Why so early?" he asked of the Marauders as they filed into their respective seats, Peter with the greatest reluctance, and he hoped his tone was as amicable and trustworthy as he meant it to be.

"Morning off," said James airily, taking his wand from an inner pocket of his robes and twiddling it idly. Mahogany, Harry recalled, and the echo of an old man's voice, '_Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say you father rather favored it…_' Precisely the same length of his own wand, he thought, smiling.

"And, having passed a blissful several hours free of school, naturally you felt inclined to arrive ten minutes early for your first class?"

"Naturally," said Sirius, smiling easily, the encounter of a mere moment previous apparently forgotten.

Were they testing him? And if so, regarding what? And why?

"Not quite, actually," said Remus. "We wanted to ask you about something."

"Some_things_, really," corrected Sirius, and Remus inclined his head in thanks.

"Oh?" said Harry, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," said James, meeting his professor's green gaze clearly. _Oddly familiar green gaze_, he thought, his casual expression twitching for a moment. "You see, during your lesson on Monday—a really fantastic one, by the way, seeing as it was your first; I learned a lot—"

"Flattery, Mr. Potter, clearly does not come easily to you. Perhaps you should brush up on that _particular_ skill."

Remus, who alone of the four caught the inflection on "particular", frowned.

"Perhaps," said James carelessly. "But during your lesson on Monday, we noticed that you mentioned fighting Death Eaters, ah, several times."

"Do you mean that I mentioned it several times or that I fought Death Eaters several times?"

James, Remus, and Sirius, like dissimilar replicas of one another, blinked. Harry stopped a smile before it reached his lips; it seemed he had learned more of interrogation and psychological warfare during his Auror training than he had originally thought.

"Either. Both," growled Sirius, his face suddenly a terrible mixture of the arrogance that Harry had seen so often in the youthful images of him, and the flashes of anger that he had met more than once in the godfather that he had loved. "You're dodging our questions! Look," he said, apparently calming down; James had shot him a look, "we want to be Aurors. We want to know what it's like, fighting them—Death Eaters, dark wizards, the like. _Please_—" the word seemed torn from his lips "—just tell us."

Harry gazed at him, at the face that was so familiar and yet so different from the one that he had so often drawn strength from. His gaze shifted right and left—to his father, whom he had never known, and to Remus, who had taught him protection and suspicion. He considered dodging the question, giving them some sort of vague, shifty answer, but stopped. Didn't he owe it to these boys who would grow into the men that he would love and honor?

"Fighting dark wizards," said Harry, spreading his hands flat on the replaced table and leaning his weight onto them. "It's—hard to say. So much of it is automatic. You're there, in the middle of a battle, and sometimes you don't even know how it started or why you're there, but you're _there_, and so you have to fight. That's a part of it—the inclination to fight. Not the _desire_—that belongs to those who you strive to eradicate—but the will to protect.

"You're fighting. You're facing somebody, a man or a woman, and with the Death Eaters—they're hooded, you know—often you don't know who they are. Who's attacking who? Who's on the defensive, and who's on the offensive? You're judging each other's defenses and skill, and though this might be your last moment, the last spell you ever cast, you rarely realize how close to death you are…As I said, so much of what you do is automatic, as it has to be."

Harry sighed. His voice was heavy; the Marauders stared at him, entranced by the emotions and memories flashing across their professor's prematurely lined features.

"I have only directly killed once…I was the age you are now, and the man was a truly evil one. But I've done many things I'm not proud of, seen many things I'd be rid of, given the choice, in an instant. I've used the Imperius and the Cruciatus Curses. When I was fifteen and foolish, I was responsible for the death of my godfather; it was in the protection of me that a fearless Auror died. If you choose to be Aurors, you will, in this war, have people you love die. My best friend's brother died; his other brother was savaged by Fenrir Greyback." Remus's face twitched. "The parents of my godson were murdered only months after his birth. My own parents were killed by Voldemort when I was one."

He stopped. He was breathing irregularly, he noticed distantly, and his hands were curled in fists.

"I can't say it's best not to fight; it isn't. The war is won or lost by those who continue fighting, against all odds and burdened by pain and suffering. It's a dark job. Too often, it's a thankless job…" He fell silent.

"I'm almost sorry I asked," said Sirius. Perhaps it was an attempt at a joke, but nobody was able to find humor in it.

"It's terrible," said a soft voice off to the left. Harry turned, and there was his mother, her eyes over-bright. "I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be," said Harry. "I'm not…most days. And I wouldn't trade the victories for the losses. Sit down, please."

She did. The rest of the class arrived within the next minute or two while the Marauders sat silent.

"Essays?" said Harry once everyone was there. "On you desks, please. Excellent. _Accio essays!_ Now, today we will be pairing off to practice the five spells we reviewed last class. As they _are_ review, you will receive a mark on their adequacy at the end of the class. Please begin…"

"Still want to be an Auror, you two?" said Remus as he, James and Sirius headed towards Transfiguration together; Peter was off to Herbology, having not achieved the standard O.W.L. to continue on into N.E.W.T. level with his friends.

"Yes," they said immediately.

"It was—horrible, some of what he said," said James falteringly. "Blimey—no parents, no godfather. Imagine how he would've grown up? If I ever have a kid, Padfoot, he's going to you, and you'd better make sure he's happy."

"'Course, mate," said Sirius softly, his usually laughing face troubled.

"Well, it's hard to doubt his truth on the Death Eaters stuff, now," said Remus. "But what about how he looks so much like you? It's too close for coincidence, I'd say."

"His eyes look like Lily's," said James abruptly. "I noticed it when I was talking to him earlier. Maybe brown eyes would be hard to pair, but green ones like those…"

"Still going to ask Julia out?" said Sirius, grinning.

"Yes," he said resolutely. "This Lily thing…" he trailed off.

Remus nodded gravely. "I'd have to agree. Lily's great, you're great, but you and her together, as six years of history prove, are not great. Move on…"

"…make out…" said Sirius.

No one seemed to notice that Lily, face red and mind in a sudden turmoil, was three feet behind them.

* * *

**Hey! I reread Chapter 4 a little while ago and was appalled by the number of mistakes it had. I'll probably be reposting it soon...just a heads up…**

**Remember—review!**


	6. Hogsmeade

**Chapter 6: Hogsmeade**

On Saturday morning Harry's eyes snapped open, his face breaking immediately into a grin. He rolled out of bed, feeling happy just at the touch of the thick rug on his feet. He hadn't felt this cheerful in—when had he last felt this cheerful? For once, the depressing thought of joy forgotten did nothing to dampen his spirits.

He donned his glasses and latched the gold watch around his wrist. It showed half past eight; he had thirty minutes before the students left for Hogsmeade. Harry wouldn't bother with breakfast in the Great Hall today—he wanted to gorge himself on Zonko's sweets and have Firewhisky at the Hog's Head and eat a ridiculously good meal at Madame Rosmerta's…_why_ was Hogsmeade making him so happily? Not that he had a complaint…

He dressed in black robes and then, pulling a face at his gloomy reflection, transfigured them bottle-green with a flick of his wand. He needed to shave, but found himself unable to care about scruffiness today.

He made to leave the room, then turned back. For Hermione's sake, he made his own bed and tidied his own rooms each day, using spells that Mrs. Weasley had taught him before she had dissolved into tears…'Fred was always so clever at these, but he never let anyone know…sorry, Harry…'

His smile flickered slightly—what would Fred have said if he knew that Harry was now teaching the Marauders, the twins' boyhood heroes? But he pushed that thought from his head…today, of all days, he would not dwell on the shadows of his past.

The morning air was crisp and cool. The narrow, familiar streets of Hogsmeade were full of the chatter and shouts and exclamations of the students of Hogwarts, and Harry found himself beaming reminiscently at them all. He felt a sudden sharp pang for Ron and Hermione, his constant loyal companions, who had accompanied him so often on his wanderings.

There was the Shrieking Shack, barely visible at the outskirts of town…when last had Remus been there? Madame Rosmerta, sighted through a glass window fogged by dozens of children, was far younger than he remembered her; Aberforth, as he now recognized him to be, was tall and formidable…how had he never identified him as Dumbledore's brother?

And there, no more than twenty meters away, were James and Sirius, each with an arm around a girl: Sirius with a tall, willowy girl with long dark hair, James with a small, slight blonde he recognized from his sixth year Ravenclaw class. The couples were sitting opposite one another at Rosmerta's, the boys clearly charming their dates with all they had. No Lily. When had his parents begun dating?

Speaking of Lily…there she was, two booths away from her future husband, clinging tightly to a tall black boy, her green eyes trained puppyishly on his face, her laughter at his comments far too loud. What was this? His mother hadn't seemed this susceptible to foolishness in Snape's memories of her. James was glancing at her every minute or so; and, Harry noticed as he watched them, Lily was looking over at him, too, though their gazes never seemed to meet. No—now they did: the hazel eyes met the green, and Harry could almost feel the electricity in them, and he felt a sudden rush of warmth—this, he was sure, was the birth of their love. They stared at each other for several moments, unblinking, wide-eyed…then Sirius reached across the table and tapped his friend sharply, and James blinked and turned away.

"That was it," said a voice in his ear. "That was when it began…"

Harry turned, a little annoyed, in time to miss Sirius indicate to James that their professor had been watching them. And there—

Harry's heart gave an enormous thump, and he felt his knees buckle. Every muscle turned to jelly; his eyes burned and his jaw fell slack. Sirius—his Sirius, his godfather, the man that Harry had loved and watched die, caught him, pulling him into a rough hug in the same movement.

"Sirius—" he gasped, clutching at the too-thin body, reveling in the reality of the flesh that gripped him. And again, senseless with confusion and joy and wonder and love, "_Sirius—_"

"Ten ways to identify your time of death," said Sirius, holding his godson at arm's length and inspecting his face. "One—visit the Harry of the future and gauge his reaction at your appearance."

"I'm so sorry!" Harry blurted, and his sorrow was indeed very evident on his face. "It was—it's going to be—all my fault…"

"Hush!" said Sirius, gripping his shoulder hard and shaking him a little. "Don't be stupid. If I'm to die…we'll call this stolen time—for both of us. An extra year, for both of us."

Harry nodded numbly, overjoyed and desperately sad at once. Studying his godfather, he could see that his appearance was closest to that of the man he had seen in the Gryffindor fireplace in his fourth year: his hair was roughly shoulder-length but clean and dark; his face, though not completely free of the twelve years he had been in Azkaban, was not so skeletal and was far livelier than it had been at the end of third year.

"I'm so sorry," said Harry again, in a whisper this time. That this man, who had loved life so much, should die for his sake…

"_Quiet_, I said. Now, what are you doing here? No, let's go inside, here—"

They entered Madame Rosmerta's and took a table ten or fifteen feet from James and the younger Sirius and nearly thirty from Lily. James glanced up as they did, and nudged his best friend. Older Sirius, who had apparently been reading the list of specials behind the counter, murmured, "They're suspicious of you. What've you been up to?"

"I'm teaching them," said Harry, grinning. "Or you, rather."

"Teaching!" Sirius exclaimed. "Ha—oh. I _do_ remember you—blimey! Your scar! That was my _godson_ teaching me? Ahh…now I'm remembering you. Or remembering remembering you…Then that was— Merlin, it's enough to give Dumbledore a headache…How old are you? —No, wait, I remember. Nineteen! Voldemort?"

"Gone," said Harry. "Over a year in my time."

"Your work?"

Harry nodded. "But many others', too," he added, sadly.

"How are Ron and Hermione?"

Harry grinned. "Alive and well, and engaged to be married. And forgetting the Silencing Charm half the time, unfortunately."

Sirius laughed, that magnificently familiar laugh like a bark. "Moony?"

He shook his head sadly. "He died a few hours before Voldemort. He was happy, though, at the end—finally really happy. He married Tonks and had a kid. A little Metamorphagus boy named Teddy."

Sirius sighed, turning his head slightly to gaze at his seventeen-year-old self just as he leaned over to kiss the dark-haired girl sweetly. His long hair fell forward, obscuring his face, but his voice carried more than enough sorrow.

"We were so happy, so careless," he murmured. "What would we have done differently, what more would we have done, if we'd know that none of us would live to be forty?" He faced Harry again, and his eyes were again the eyes of the man who had not known joy in years. "I look at them—us—and I see ghosts. Your parents loved each other so much, Harry, and they barely had time to realize it. Five years…it passes in a blink."

They were silent together until Rosmerta came by to take their orders: two Firewhiskies and sausage sandwiches. "Right away," she said briskly, smiling at them briefly before sweeping off to service another of her many customers.

"Oi—Rosie!" yelled the young Sirius suddenly, and his professor and older self turned to watch him.

"Yes, Mr. Black?" she asked, coming towards them. There was a slight grin flitting around her plump lips.

"James and I here were just wondering something."

There was a pause. "Yes?" prompted Rosmerta.

"Yes?" Sirius mimicked, turning to James, who nodded gravely.

"We were, indeed, wondering something," said James.

"A wonderful something."

"Wondering about a wonderful something."

"Sex?" muttered Harry. His godfather grinned.

Sirius continued, "And as we were wondering—"

"—wonderingly—"

"—about this wonderful something—"

"—we were wondering if you could refill our drinks."

"You forgot 'O wondrous Rosie,'" said Sirius in mock annoyance.

"O wondrous Rosie," added James contritely, grinning charmingly.

Harry turned back to Sirius with a smile. "You know, the first time I heard you were my godfather—I was eavesdropping, you know, hiding under the table because I'd used the Map to get into Hogsmeade—Rosmerta said you and James were 'quite the double act.' It's weird seeing it, though—weird watching you all as kids, and my parents…"

"And me?" said Sirius, laughing. "I just found out that it was my unborn godson who busted me at my brilliant Animagus prank—"

Harry grinned. "You deserved that, you know. But speaking of just finding out, how'd you know I'd be here?"

"Oh, that. Dumbledore sent me a letter. All very vague, of course—typical. Said he advised me to 'revisit some schoolboy haunts.' Hinted that you were involved. Apparently some things had come together for him at the end of your third year, after he'd learned about me and Pettigrew. With the letter was a page from some book or another—a time-travel spell. Well…it seemed pretty obvious. And it would be my first break from Azkaban and running for thirteen years—so I came."

Harry nodded slowly. "I'm glad you're here. I saw you once more after—after you were gone. Long story…I thought I'd never see you again."

Sirius cocked his head and grinned. "You're turning into quite the girl here, Harry. What's death? An eternity of life. Don't stress on it. I won't."

But you will, Harry thought abruptly. That's why you hated being stuck in Grimmauld Place so much, isn't it? You could've handled being trapped—you were for twelve years—it was the fact that the last year of your life was draining away that you hated…

He shook his head. "I asked you, that one time I saw you after you died, if it hurt. Dying, I mean. You said it was 'quicker and easier than falling asleep.'"

They were quiet again. James, Sirius, and their dates paid for their food and left. Lily watched them leave, and at the door James turned to look back at her; she glanced away quickly and busied herself with taking an extra-large gulp of her tea, which she promptly choked on. James smiled faintly and disappeared after his friends.

Rosmerta came a moment later with their drinks. Harry tipped his towards him, not drinking; though nineteen, he had never before gotten truly drunk. Sirius watched his face and grinned.

"My own godson, a stranger to Firewhisky? The shame! Drink up—one won't affect you too much. I think we should finish up here and then haul you off to the Hog's Head to get you completely, smashingly drunk."

Harry made a face and bravely quaffed the whisky in one go, forcing himself to keep gulping though it seared his throat on the way down, making his nostrils sting and the backs of his eyes burn. Sirius laughed merrily at his godson's expression and downed his own.

"I can't _believe_ Moony didn't take you out on your seventeenth to get you drunk. It's a Marauder tradition, you know. I was oldest, then James and Peter and Remus. It got worse as the birthdays progressed. Getting smashed while your friends drink tea isn't that great. Getting smashed with James was fun. Him and me getting smashed with Peter was, ah, _interesting_. And all four of us drunk off Firewhisky at once, egging each other on—suffice to say, few of our spells the next day went over too well."

Harry shook his head, swirling the last half-inch of his drink around in circles at the bottom of his glass. Rosmerta brought their sandwiches, which they wolfed down quickly, Sirius with particular zeal—how often had he been able to eat like this in the past fourteen years?

"Onward ho!" cried Sirius. "Ah—you've got this one? I'll have to visit my vault and get some gold—"

"You bought me a _Firebolt_," said Harry, rising and dropping a galleon and four sickles on the table. "I've got this one, and the next hundred or so ones. And how do you plan on getting gold? Ha, speaking of which—good story! A year and a half ago, Hermione, Ron and I became the first people in wizarding history to successfully carry out a Gringott's heist."

"What did you steal? Do I want to know?"

"A cup."

"_A cup?_" yelped Sirius, so loud that half the room fell silent for a moment. They hurried out the door. Sirius quietly hissed, "You managed to break into Gringott's and you stole a _cup_?"

Their laughter, loud and happy and free, could be heard far down the street.

HPHPHP

James and Sirius kept up the illusion of easy happiness until they were back at Hogwarts, although both were well aware of the other's mood. They said goodbye to their dates outside the Great Hall—Sirius far more enthusiastically than his friend, whose date just muttered "Whatever" quite sourly and stalked off. The moment they were gone, Sirius dragged his friend off to one of many hidden passageways and confronted him.

"_What was that?_" he hissed, gripping James's arm tightly.

James feigned bewilderment.

"_That! _That thing with Lily. _What—is—going—on?_"

James sighed. "I dunno—honestly. I just looked over—and for the first time, _ever_, she was looking back without hate or anger or—or anything like that. Sirius, mate—I think this is good. I think this is _really_ good. Maybe I finally have a chance…D'you know how long I've wanted this?"

Sirius released him. "Yeah, I do," he said, stepping back. "I'm really glad for you, mate."

James blinked. There was an odd note to Sirius's voice, a dead, flat sort of note. He was far too happy to pay it much heed, though. His grin was stretching ear to ear, and after a second Sirius smiled back, if not entirely genuinely than at least with honest effort.

HPHPHP

Harry groaned loudly as he awoke and rolled over. The light coming through the window beside his bed burned holes through his eyes and seared his brain; he shut them quickly, instead groping about blindly as he rose, searching for his glasses. It was with the greatest surprise that his foot hit something warm and soft; it was with the greatest speed that his hand found his wand and he yelled, "_Expelliarmus!_"

"Oi!" yelled a groggy voice as Harry caught a foreign wand, squinting. The events of the day before rushed back to them—a little blurred and some forgotten—and he dropped quickly to his knees.

"Sorry, sorry. Here," he returned his godfather's wand. "Habit. I'd forgotten…Damn but my head _hurts_."

"It's called a hangover. It takes skill to relieve it—though luckily not on my part. _Hogwarts!_" he yelled.

"Not so loud—aargh!"

A house elf had just Apparated into their room right beside where Sirius still lay sprawled across Harry's floor.

"Could you get us two doses of Hangover Potion, please?" said Sirius. The elf nodded and with a second, painful _crack_ disappeared; he returned mere seconds later with two cups of a steaming, yellowish glue-like substance that he handed to Sirius and Harry before Disapparating again.

"It's not as bad as it looks, honestly," said Sirius, downing his at once. "Ahh…that's better."

Harry regarded his suspiciously for a long moment before taking a gulp. He nearly spit it out—it was _much_ worse than it looked. Its effect was instantaneous, though, immediately soothing the symptoms of several hours' constant drinking. He forced himself to down the rest.

"I am never, _ever_ going out with you again," said Harry, finally locating his glasses and pushing them up his nose. He extended a hand and pulled his godfather to his feet. "Thank Merlin it's Sunday. We should probably go see Dumbledore. Ahh…here. Have a set of my robes."

They were a little short on him, but the rough fit was decent. Sirius disappeared off to the shower to bathe; then Harry took his turn, and shaved. "I want _food_," he grumbled. He looked at his watch: lunch wasn't for another hour. He groaned.

"Whiner," said Sirius at the exact moment that his own stomach snarled loudly. He winced, then laughed. "There's always the kitchens."

"Dumbledore," said Harry firmly. "Come on, off we go."

"Wait!" said Sirius abruptly when they were nearly at the Headmaster's. "We can't tell him who I am. Then he'll know later that I was innocent all along, and you'll go to me instead of your aunt and uncle's. You won't have any of your mother's protection."

Harry was tempted to argue, but had to agree that Sirius was right. "Twelve years in Azkaban for me?"

"Anytime, mate," said Sirius, clapping him on the shoulder.

Lily ducked back behind the tapestry to the Heads' tower. I really _must_ stop eavesdropping, she thought distantly, but the things she had overheard were far closer to her thoughts at the moment. Not telling Dumbledore who he was? His mother's protection? An innocent man spending twelve years in Azkaban?

Something was very odd about those two, she thought, frowning.

**Sorry if you hate me or whatnot because I brought Sirius back. He's my favorite character (a curse on Rowling for killing him!), and, well, I couldn't resist.**

review REVIEW **REVIEW**


	7. Patronus

**AUTHOR'S NOTE—IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: So…I got a few reviews from people unsure of what time Sirius is from. He's from Harry's fourth year, when he was hiding out in the south, before he went to Grimmauld Place or died or had to go and "alert the old crowd" or whatever the phrase was. Very sorry about the confusion. Remember that this is time travel—he can skip out of his own time, spend a year in the past, and return to whatever hideout he was at without ever missing more than a day in his own time.**

**Also—thanks so much for all the reviews for the last chapter, you all made my universe. **

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**Chapter 7: Patronus**

James Potter woke up far earlier than his son on Sunday morning. He rolled over, groaned, bolted upright as he remembered the events of yesterday, then fell back with a little moan.

A grunt answered him to the right. "Go to sleep, dammit. It's five o'clock in the morning," growled Sirius. James threw a pillow at him, rolled out of bed and padded downstairs to the common room—where Lily sat curled in an armchair, staring into the dying fire.

James froze.

Lily turned her head slowly and gave him a half-smile. "Potter," she said, very quietly and without any of her usual vehemence.

"Evans," he said with a similar lopsided smile, going over to her and sitting down in the armchair across from hers. They were silent together, Lily watching and the fire and James watching Lily.

She said, "In Rosmerta's—"

He said, "I know."

Silence. Then, "This is weird."

"_Really _weird."

She sighed. "Two months ago, I hated you."

He smiled. "I know."

"And now…"

He let her think.

"Friends?" she said feebly.

He could settle for that, for now. He grinned suddenly and stretched a hand out towards her, making her jump a little; then she grasped it and shook. "Friends," said James, his heart beating far too fast.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry and Sirius went to Dumbledore to implore him to allow Sirius to stay with Hogwarts' youngest professor, and left as partnered teachers of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Dumbledore had been all too agreeable about not knowing Sirius's true identity and, once Harry had explained a vague reasoning to this, had not looked directly as him again.

"_Teacher_," grumbled Sirius as they left. "Did anybody _ask_ if I wanted to teach?"

"Do you?"

"You kidding? Torment my seventeen-year-old self for an hour and forty-five minutes at a time? This is going to be the best year of my life!"

Harry laughed. "Now, _food_."

"Hear, hear."

They threaded their way through the growing crowds of Hogwarts students to the Great Hall where Dumbeldore, to their surprise, was already seated, having beaten them to lunch. He stood up once they had sat down and, with a simple clearing of his throat, silenced the chatter of the witches and wizards below him.

"A new teacher has joined us today, rather unexpectedly; I had been under the impression that he would not be able to brighten our halls this year, due to some complications with a spell during the summer. I would like to introduce Mr. Karl Lott, who will be acting as professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts alongside Mr. Exx." He smiled broadly at the pair, then sat down again.

"'Alongside'—right. Exx is too young, I'll bet Dumbledore dragged him in to prevent the parents screaming for his resignation."

James frowned at Sirius's words, but had to admit they fit the situation. He studied the new teacher with slightly narrowed eyes, recalling his and Exx's warm reunion yesterday outside Rosmerta's, and the loud laughter he had heard from forty feet away as he had entered Zonko's. Lott's face looked—haunted, far more markedly than his friend's did. His eyes, too, even as he laughed, carried a dead, ghostly quality.

He was jerked from his thoughts by Sirius, who was calling, "Lily! Sitting so close to Demon Potter, do you need me to take you to Pomfrey?"

James turned his head so fast he was distantly surprised it didn't snap off and fall into his lap. Lily had, indeed, taken a seat directly across from him and Sirius where she sat uncertain and red-faced at Sirius's remark. Instinctively James refrained from remarking on her beauty, liveliness, intelligence or demeanor.

He elbowed his best friend and shot him a look. "Lily and I have come to an…agreement. No?"

"That's right. Pot— James, can you pass me the rolls?"

He did, grinning; Lily had never called him James in his memory, unless it was coupled with his surname in a loud and angry rant. Remus and Sirius stared at each other, then at James and Lily, bewildered; then, as one, they busied themselves with eating.

"Did I miss something?" said Peter.

"Always, Wormy," murmured Remus, shaking his head.

HPHPHP

Harry practically whimpered when he realized on Monday morning that Sirius's first class as co-teacher of Defense would be seventh year Slytherins…and Snape. Rather than suffer a small explosion, he simply didn't tell his godfather, who emerged from his magically added adjoining room looking quite cheery.

"How do I look? Scholarly? Handsome? Dashing?"

"All the girls are seventeen or younger, you know."

"Not all the teachers, though," said Sirius, grinning. "Minnie McGonagall, for example…"

"My eyes! My eyes!" yelled Harry, feigning a sort of seizure.

"C'mon, lout. Breakfast. I'm _starving_."

Harry ate slowly, dreading first period. As they walked together towards their classroom, however, Sirius inquired after the inevitable: "Who do we have first?"

Harry sneezed, coughed, and stubbed his toe in rapid succession, while Sirius watched him suspiciously.

"Let me guess—either fifth or seventh year Slytherins, right?"

Harry winced. "Seventh."

"Well, relax. I get the whole no-murder-on-campus rule. I can contain myself until the next Hogsmeade outing, no problem."

"Sirius!"

"_Kidding_, Harry. Look, the git's seventeen, right? I can deal with it."

It turned out that Sirius could—kind of. He refrained from physical abuse, but gave Snape a double detention, one for talking back and the other for not paying attention, never mind that half of the rest of the class were doing the exact same thing. While his students practiced the same five spells he had given the seventh year Gryffindors, Harry took his godfather aside and told him to ease off. He did—kind of. As Snape left, he called him back and reduced his detentions to one, saying, "I don't want to spend a moment longer in your company than I have to." Harry saw the boy's hand dart towards his wand, his sallow face even whiter than usual, but he had sense enough to control himself and instead turned on heel and stormed out.

"_Sirius!_" Harry hissed.

He actually did look a little regretful. "Self control, right," he muttered. "Sorry, Harry—really. It's just—seventeen or no, I _hate_ him."

"Well, don't," snapped Harry. "You were wrong about him—we all were. He _was_ on our side, all along. I can't tell you why—Merlin knows you'll just use it against him—but _ease off_, okay?"

Sirius looked taken aback. "Sure," he said, quietly, while his godson turned away.

Harry, hands shaking slightly, was remembering one of Snape's memories, passed to him in death. _Sometimes I wonder if we sort too soon_, Dumbledore had said. What if the Sorting Hat, using just a little more foresight, reading just a little deeper into the eleven-year-old Severus Snape's mind, had put him in Gryffindor and not Slytherin? Would his father have been Snape and not James? Or would his godfather be Snape instead of Sirius? He shook his head sadly. There had been too many _ifs_ over the years of the war with Voldemort—far too many ifs…

HPHPHP

Thursday's lesson with the seventh year Gryffindors and the Marauders was nearly as tumultuous. The young Sirius, with renewed suspicions towards Harry and with even less trust in his older self, doggedly continued to pry at his teacher with subtle questions and hints.

"Today," said Harry as his students settled into their desks and after he had introduced Sirius, "for a change, we will study Patronuses. Perhaps I should wait on this lesson; it is highly advanced magic, usually considered to be beyond N.E.W.T. level. It will not be covered in your formal examinations, but I want each of you to be able to produce at lease an insubstantial Patronus by the end of this year. Does anybody know what a Patronus is? Remus?"

"It's a charm used to repel Dementors. You must think of a happy thought while you say the spell, or else it won't work."

"Yes, excellent. Five points to Gryffindor. The Patronus does indeed repel Dementors, as well as Lethifolds. A true Patronus, called a Corpeal Patronus, will usually take the form of an animal, though it may also be a magical creature; I had a friend once whose Patronus was a werewolf.

"Now," he said with a smile, "who would like to come up to the front and be used as an example? Sirius?"

He heard a small snigger off to his right, where his godfather was lounging back in his chair, and suppressed a smile of his own.

"Karl, I could use your assistance."

"Karl" stood, smirking, and he and the young Sirius made their way towards Harry at the same moment.

"Sirius. Wand out, please. Good. The charm is _Expecto Patronum_. Practise, please—no, _Expecto Patro_num, not _nim_. That's better. Now, think of something happy—a really good memory, the best you have."

Sirius made a show of sighing and closing his eyes, but after a moment his face sank into real concentration and a small smile settled across his features.

"Now, concentrate on that memory. Try, now."

"_Expecto Patronum!_" shouted Sirius, and an impressive amount of a silvery-white fog-like substance rushed from the tip of his wand.

"Excellent!" said Harry.

"Yes, excellent!" cried his godfather, whose face was utterly suffused with happy enthusiasm; only Harry, who knew him well, was able to tell that the adulation in his voice was mostly sarcasm. "Ten points to Gryffindor! Make it twenty!"

Sirius looked at him as though he were insane and returned to his seat. "Can we see your Patronus?" he asked, and Harry sensed the undercurrent of a challenge.

He exchanged a glance with his godfather, who shrugged.

Harry hesitated warily, then said, "Very well. _Expecto Patronum!_"

The stag burst from his wand, silver and regal and huge. He bounded a few feet away, then turned back, unsure; he reared once, coming down with a stamping of forefeet and a soundless snort, then, after a few more moments, faded into mist which in turn dissipated into nothingness.

"_Oooooooh_," said several girls breathlessly. The Marauders, however, said nothing; each jaw was knotted with clenched muscle, each pair of eyes wide as they stared at their teacher; each mind, no doubt, calculating whether the stag, so precisely the shape of James's Animagus form, was coincidence or not.

"I want everybody to try the Patronus Charm at least once today," said Harry, a little bracingly and without looking at any of the Marauders. "Let's split into two groups—half of you can practice with me, half with S— Professor Lott."

They did, and Harry noticed that a suspicious number of girls gathered around him; he made a face at Sirius over their heads. The Marauders, too, went towards him, but as that made the groups uneven he told Sirius and Peter to go to "Professor Lott". Sirius glanced back at him, his eyes narrowed and calculating, as he did.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"_Did you see that?_" hissed Sirius the moment they were free of the Defense classroom. James elbowed him sharply; Lily had quickly taken to walking with them from class to class, and there were some things he'd rather they didn't discuss in her company.

"Brilliant, _eh_?" he said with far too much bite.

Lily glanced from friend to friend, frowning. "I want to be able to do that. I wonder what my Patronus would be?"

"Me?" said James, grinning.

Lily had adapted quickly to accepting such comments as jokes, and swung her hip against his, laughing. "I suppose you _are_ an animal…"

"_Excuse me?_" he cried, feigning great hurt as he placed a fluttering hand over his heart. "You wound me, Evans."

Sirius, on her other side, slung an arm around her shoulders. "I, however, am impervious to your wicked ways. You can punish me _any way you want_"—he winked down at her suggestively—"and all I'll feel is love."

Lily shuddered and slipped lightly away from him. "I have to go get my textbook," she said as she ran ahead through the hallway. "Dream on, Black!"

"His Patronus!" exclaimed Sirius the moment she was out of hearing range. "I'm not kidding any more—there's something _wrong_ with that bloke. That was _you_ as his Patronus."

"I dunno…it was really hard to tell…"

"You're delusional, James. Put it together! He looks _exactly_ like you—"

"—except for the eyes—"

"—his Patronus looks exactly like you—"

"—_maybe_—"

"—he was _spying_ on us at Rosmerta's—"

"—he could've been looking at anybody!"

"Anybody that was _us_, sure. And we still don't know how he knows we're Animagi," said Sirius, exasperated. "Back me up, Moony!"

"I think you are being a bit blind," said Remus carefully. "But maybe James had a point… What's prying going to get us, Padfoot?"

"Answers! What's _wrong_ with you lot? I thought we were together on this! When did you all turn into such snivelly little _girls_?"

"Easy there, mate," said James with a hint of real anger at last. "Of course I do agree with you…something's off. But looks and Patronus, that _could_ be coincidence. And Remus is right, there's no point in spying. He's not doing anything to hurt us—and, frankly, none of us have the time or the resources—no Map, remember?—to put into spying. And furthermore, _I just don't want to_. Got it?"

"Got it," said Sirius furiously, and was sulkily silent for the rest of the day—except with Peter, who he pulled aside before dinner for a quick talk.

"Look," he said. "You have the lightest load, and your form is a rat. Just…I dunno. Get out a couple times a week, sneak around his rooms or something…"

"Sure, sure," said Peter, smiling, his beady eyes bright. "Trust me, I'm a great spy!"

**-------------**

**So I pretty much hate this chapter…nothing seemed to flow, and the whole thing is pretty pointless. But whatever…**

**Now, just because I think this chapter should go to hell and be used as toilet paper by Hitler doesn't mean I don't think you should REVIEW. By the fact that I got 32 REVIEWS for the last chapter (thanks for that, by the way, they were all extremely awesome) I can see that you people know **_**how**_** to REVIEW…so, please**_**please**_**PLEASE, REVIEW!!!**


	8. Developments

**Chapter 8: Developments**

James and Lily were seated across from each other at a long oak table in the Heads' Tower, alone. They were studying—or pretending to study; each was privately lost in their own contemplation of the other.

_Why can't I think he's arrogant anymore?_ Lily was wondering, staring blankly at the page of her Defense textbook, open to a passage on the Unforgivable Curses she was supposed to be reading for next class. _I hated him for so many years. Why not now? _Why?

It was October 24th, and lately Lily and James had been spending twice as many of their waking hours together than they were apart. They ate side by side at breakfast, lunch and dinner; they studied together; they had begun taking long meandering walks through the Hogwarts grounds together. They laughed together and they talked together and they—

_There's a lot of _togethers_ in the things we do these days,_ thought James as he considered the many activities he and Lily had come to share. He glanced surreptitiously at her through his dark fringe, then quickly dropped his gaze again as he caught hers; they both went back to pretending to study, blushing.

Half an hour later, James groaned loudly and tipped his chair back onto its hind legs, stretching his own long legs out before him—then swiftly drawing them close again as he brushed her foot. He cursed himself. A month ago, when their friendship was young, physical contact had been easy and unassuming; now each tiny touch caused stutters and redness for them both. _What is going on?_

Lily was watching him, her gaze, for the first time in three weeks, direct and open. "James," she said clearly.

"Erm—yes?" He let his chair fall forwards again so its legs banged down hard, even on the carpeted floor, and smiled at her—or tried to…

"What's going on?"

He almost laughed. Now they were even starting to _think_ together! He considered dodging her inquiry even as he wondered how deep the question went. Should he give her an honest answer, or the answer that would keep the _together_ in his days?

She waited for his answer for a bit but, seeing his inner conflict, continued herself instead. "I think I'm in— I mean, I really like you. Er…"

"As...you mean…as more…than a friend?" he managed with difficulty. How often he had imagined a conversation just like this! Well—not _just_ like this. In his imagination, James was articulate, passionate…and kissing Lily…

She said something that was partway between a squeak and a mumble, something that sounded like "Yeemmin." She put her head down into her hands, so that her dark red hair, unfettered and free, fell forwards and tumbled around her face.

With sudden boldness, he scooted his chair closer to the table and reached across its breadth to take one of her hands. She glanced up, startled, her green eyes wide—

He brought her hand towards him, rubbing the length of her index finger with his thumb, then dropped his head down to rest his forehead against her slim white fingers. He said, very quietly, without looking up, "I've loved you for ever."

He heard her draw a strangled breath and glanced up, distressed. Her pretty features were damp with tears, her green eyes drowning in them. He stood, distraught, and walked around the table—they were near enough the end that he need not relinquish her hand—and knelt beside her. Very gently, he brushed tears from her face, smoothing them into her cheeks. "Don't cry," he whispered.

"I'm not," she said, with a little of her old petulance. They both laughed a little. "It's just…James…I've never been so…_happy_…"

"Happy tears," said James, still cupping her cheek with one palm. "Is James Potter making Lily Evans _happy_?"

She smiled. "Happier than—happier than—"

"—Gryffindor House after a Quidditch Cup?"

"Happier than _you_ after a Quidditch Cup."

He grinned and gently pulled a lock of her hair. "That's not happiness. Happiness is being able to sit within two feet of you and not get spit at."

She laughed and slid from her chair to kneel in front of James. They were suddenly very close, their thighs and stomach and chests touching, their faces no more than a centimeter apart. There was nothing to do but kiss—so they did.

James and Lily's lips met to create some sort of explosion in the couple's bodies. Lily sighed very slightly as he pressed his mouth to hers, rather blindly, as though he had never kissed a girl before; it was the rough, gentle, passionate joining of love, no matter how new or old the realization of it might be. His arms were around her waist, and hers were around his neck; they were twined, they were one for a space of a kiss—

They broke apart, breathless, but neither relinquished their hold on the other, and their faces were still so close together that the exhalation of her breath became his next inhalation. She blinked and her lashes twined with his. James's cheeks were wet with Lily's tears, and both their faces were filled with an odd mixture of joy and confusion and wonder and delight…and love…

-/-

Harry and his godfather had tired far too quickly of talking in their mutual office, which had not expanded along with addition of Sirius's bedroom. They were instead forced to wander the Hogwarts grounds, sometimes passing into the Forbidden Forest, or else meander through the actual school halls, although once or twice they visited the Room of Requirement—a source of delighted fascination on Sirius's part—and the kitchens, which Sirius entered and exited with a broad grin stretched across his face, now bearded for extra security against the Marauders' still-prying eyes.

For now, though, Harry and Sirius were cloistered in the most remote corner of the library, sunk deep into two aging, worn armchairs. As teachers, they now had free access to all of the volumes in the Restricted section, which Sirius was characteristically abusing by flipping through a superstitious old book that was attempting to demonstrate the nonexistent differences between the anatomy of Muggle females and witches. He was only paying a little attention to it, though; most of his mind was focused on his godson, who was recounting his Ministry break-in and the search for the locket Horcrux. Such escapades were always recounted with the severe warning that Sirius must not pass such information on to anybody, no matter what the temptation.

What they did not know—or, in Sirius's case, possibly did not remember—was that a certain seventeen-year-old counterpart of Harry's godfather was skulking behind a high row of books no more than fifteen feet away. He was half-crouched, tense and frozen, in his dog form instead of his human's, in order to better hear the low voices of his professors.

"She's _horrible_," Professor Exx was saying with startling vehemence. "See here—the back of my hand? It was the year between when Voldemort had returned and when anybody would believe Dumbledore and me, and whenever I would say anything about any of it she'd give me lines. 'You must not tell lies.' I'd write it over and over again, _in my own blood_, and she'd stand over me and _smile_. Everybody hated her. Fred and George, though—the Weasley twins—they did some brilliant pranking before they left."

Professor Lott, after a few hisses throughout his friend's narrative, some sympathetic and some threateningly angry, responded. "Hagrid told me about them, briefly—I met up with him over the summer, before I went south. Said they were the only Hogwarts students ever able to rival us—ha!" His snort was derisive, but full of amusement, as Sirius noticed his voice so often was.

"You'll like them, I think. But back to my story. Hermione, Ron, and I were in hiding. I've told you about Umbridge's campaign against me—"

"'Undesirable Number One'—I can't believe you took my title—"

"Ha, ha," said Exx dryly. "I can tell you just how much I _savored_ being in hiding, if it will make you feel any better."

"No need," said Lott, and his voice had abruptly lost most of its humor. "I've been there. Spend twelve years in Azkaban, and _then_ you can lecture me on the horrors of being hunted."

Only Sirius's keen ears were able to pick up Exx's slight wince, even as his mind raced. Twelve years in Azkaban? And Dumbledore had hired him? But Exx was already speaking again—

"Sorry, mate. You're right. It wasn't so horrible, on the whole—I did have Hermione and Ron with me…most of the time…But that's another story. Well, Umbridge _hated_ me. Actually, I think she hated humanity in general. She ruined hundreds of innocent witches' and wizards' lives. Her campaign against Muggleborns…it was disgusting. She rounded all of them up, and if they couldn't prove that they were descended from somebody with magical powers, she proclaimed that they had stolen their magic through murder, and were locked in Azkaban."

"That's—" spluttered Lott, incoherent for the first time Sirius had heard.

"I know. But this all goes back to the locket, right. Hermione, Ron, and I were in the ministry, with Polyjuice Potion. I had to search her office—we thought the locket might be in there. And attached to her door—"

He trailed off. Sirius had a sense of the greatest foreboding as he heard the immense measures of disgust, revulsion and hatred laced through his young professor's voice.

"It was Mad-Eye Moody's eye. He was killed just before my seventeenth birthday, when the Order came to get me from my aunt and uncle's. We—well, they; they wouldn't let me go—went back for his body, of course. But it was gone. It turned out that the Ministry had gotten it first—probably one of the Death Eaters in the Ministry. And Umbridge took his eye, and put it on the end of a telescope, and used it to spy on everybody else at the Ministry…"

Again, Exx trailed off, clearly sickened, an emotion echoed in Sirius, and probably Lott as well; Sirius could hear his quickened breathing, could almost see the sad, deadened eyes narrowed in anger.

"At least you still had people behind you," said Lott softly, sadly. "I was hated by _everybody _—unnamed Muggles whose families they thought I'd killed, even my closest friends, who'd thought I'd murdered your parents…"

"You were found to be innocent," said Exx, just as quietly. "After you died…"

They were quiet for a long time more, until Lott said, with sudden, abrupt cheerfulness, "Look at these diagrams, heh? A little dodgy…Oi! Muggle girls don't have spikes on their buttocks—who _wrote_ this?"

"You'd know," said Exx, laughing, and they talked of trivial matters until Sirius snuck off, his mind shrieking at him.

What was all that? he wondered, shifting swiftly back into a human before he passed Pince, who would surely have screamed bloody murder if she's caught sight of a dog in her library. _You were found to be innocent after you died_, Exx had said to Lott. The tenses were all wrong…so much of what they'd said was wrong!

Sirius, after running away to James's, had gradually become aware of the existence of the Order of the Phoenix, even as his best friend did. What other Order could Exx have been speaking of? And why would they be guarding his seventeen-year-old professor, to the extent that one of their members was killed doing so? Mad-Eye Moody…Mad-Eye Moody…the name, or a portion of it, was distantly familiar to him, and for a long moment he struggled to remember it, but there were so many other things to contemplate that he found it impossible to fixate on that one for very long.

Professor Lott had spent _twelve years_ in Azkaban, and that was something that Dumbledore would surely have know about—and yet he had employed him, given him the coveted job of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—why? Did Lott command some kind of horrifically Dark Magic, so arcane and powerful that it was capable of outwitting, of fooling even Dumbledore himself? No matter that Lott was—apparently—innocent, twelve years spent in the company of Dementors would ruin any mind, would corrupt any soul. It would explain his professor's wasted features, his deadened gaze, but why wasn't he insane from living in the presence of such dark, dreadful creatures?

And what of Harry Exx? He had never heard of any sort of campaign marking somebody out to be 'Undesirable Number One', had never heard of Muggleborns being rounded up and imprisoned for supposed theft of magic. And yet Lott had not questioned this story for an instant, though it had been told to him as though it was a foreign one. Was Exx a foreign wizard, perhaps, who had taken refuge in England to escape from his own homeland, where he was hated but where perhaps Dumbledore still respected him? No—his English accent was strong and true, and carried no alien lilt. But he had been in hiding, had apparently attended Hogwarts, though his age was too close to Sirius's own for these stories to be plausible.

And if Exx really had attended Hogwarts, why had Dumbledore allowed the employment of a woman who—again, apparently—forced lines on her student that were written in blood? Both spoke of Hagrid as though he was a genuine acquaintance, but Sirius had never seen them speaking together.

Sirius's head hurt. The two were very dodgy, and there was something clearly wrong about them, but nobody seemed to believe Sirius's theories, or even want to put forth their own. James, who was becoming increasingly immersed in Lily and was putting less and less time towards his friends, tended to laugh; Remus would shrug and give an unhelpful comment; and Peter…

Peter! In nearly a month and half of supposed spying—Sirius suspected he gorged himself in the kitchens instead—he had turned up a resounding amount of nothingness. He reported that Exx and Lott's door was Impenetrable (at Hogwarts? Why?); that students' cats stalked him when he tried to follow them through the school; that he had been "violently savaged" on the grounds by a dog that he had thought was Sirius himself.

Sirius wanted to strangle himself, and Peter, and most of all his blasted, mysterious, unknowable professors, who of all the many things in Hogwarts would not reveal their secrets to him. He therefore resolved to redouble his efforts; he was not a man to abandon a hunt easily…

-/-

It was Wednesday afternoon, and Harry and his godfather had led their seventh-year Gryffindor class out into the English fall in a large field on Hogwarts grounds for their next lesson, their final one of the day.

"Today's lesson," said Exx to the students standing before him, "will, as you know, be on the Unforgivable Curses."

"You should all have read the chapter in the textbook," said Lott, who was leaning casually against a fence rail. "But today won't be a textbook lesson. The theory behind the Unforgivable Curses is very simple: you have to be powerful, and you have to mean the curse."

"We are not here to teach you to use the Unforgivables, but rather to further your knowledge on them and give you the largest possible advantage over any wizard seeking to use an Unforgivable against you. Now, what are the three Curses? Name and function, please. Mary?"

He addressed a petite brunette, who obediently listed with her eyes half-closed: "_Avada Kedavra_, the Killing Curse, which kills the first living thing it comes in contact with; _Crucio_, used to torture; and _Imperio_, used to control."

"Very good," said Exx. "Five points to Gryffindor. Unforgivable Curses, as any witch or wizard of this age knows, are so named because those who employ them have committed an unforgivable spell of the Dark Arts against their fellow. There is no defense against the Killing Curse"—here Lott snorted, causing a few students to frown and Exx to glare at him—"but the pain rendered in the Cruciatus Curse may be controlled through practice. The only easily deflected Curse—and I'm using 'easily' in its loosest sense—is the Imperius Curse, which Lott and I will use on each of you in turn over the next few lessons until you are able to resist its influence completely."

There was a general outcry at this, but Harry noticed that Lily looked eager, that James and Remus said nothing, and that, troublingly, Sirius narrowed his eyes, an expression that was beginning to tire his young professor. The two teachers waited for the hubbub to die, then continued.

"Harry and I here have arranged a little reward," said Lott slyly, glancing at his colleague. "If any student here can at least forcefully resist the Imperius Curse by the end of this lesson, Harry will allow me to perform the Cruciatus Curse on him."

The generally moral Gryffindors gasped at this, but it was Lily, paling, who protested outright.

"That's disgusting!" she yelled furiously, not minding the fact that she addressed her professors. "_Torture_ each other? What is this, Durmstrang? Do you think we're a rabble of Slytherins here?" She was quite literally shaking.

Harry and his godfather drew back, but it was the former who recovered first, stepping forward to place a hand on Lily's slender, trembling shoulder. "Hush," he said gently. "It's a trick, Lily. I'm immune to the Cruciatus Curse. Karl here could perform it on me all day long and I'd never flinch. It was meant as a demonstration—that hard work, training, and mental resilience are really the best defenses against evil."

Lily stared up into her professor's face and was struck by how precisely he looked like James. He was even, she noticed, James's precise height; and he looked down on her with a tenderness not so very far distant from James's. Shaken, but calmed, she could only nod.

Sirius nudged his best friend hard. "_Immune?_" he hissed, and for the first time in weeks James looked genuinely perturbed.

The class proceeded from there with little further incident, if one could exclude from that category the systematic hypnotization of an entire class which is then forced to do insanely uncharacteristic things. Lily, her professors were only half-surprised to learn, proved most apt at throwing off the Curse, while Peter actually took several minutes after the Curse was lifted to recover from doing whatever anybody asked him to do. At the end of the period, however, Harry asked her first if he wanted them to go through with the Cruciatus Curse. She gave a moment's hesitation, then shook her head.

Immediately the boys and even some of the girls around her began berating her, but a single, sharp "Hey!" from James silenced them all.

"You know," said Lott idly, "in Bulgaria they nod their head for no and shake it for yes."

Exx snorted.

"I said _no_," said Lily fiercely, whose head hurt from the three Imperius Curses exercised upon her. James dropped an arm around her shoulders and led her off, the Marauders following. The moment the five were out of earshot, however, things erupted.

"Something's wrong with them!" cried Lily and Sirius at the exact same moment. And this time Remus and James nodded in solemn, troubled agreement.

"Who the hell's _immune_ to the Cruciatus Curse?" demanded James.

"And who the hell uses that as a _trick_?" growled Lily, her face twisted with the anger she had suppressed in her professors' presence.

"That's what I've been saying for _weeks!_" cried Sirius, happy to have at last found supporters. "Now, listen, Peter and I have been spying. Pete hasn't turned up much, but I overheard them the other day in library, and it was downright—"

"You've been using Peter to spy?" said Lily as though the small boy wasn't two steps behind her.

"Well, duh, he is the sm—" Sirius snapped his jaws shut before he could say any more, but Lily had already caught the slipup.

"He's the what?" she said dangerously. James placed a hand on her shoulder, but Lily seemed unaware; she was staring down her much taller friend, who seemed to shrink beneath her ominous gaze. "Look, I know there's something up—your fishy nicknames—and I know Remus is a werewolf—"

"James!" cried Remus, anguished, but his friend looked equally shocked.

"Oh, don't be daft!" she cried. "I've know for years—you disappear every month on the full moon, it's a testimony to the stupidity of my schoolmates that everybody doesn't know! What _I_ want to know, though, is why the rest of you leave with him. And how."

The Marauders traded glances, shifting their weight and grimacing. At last Sirius shrugged. "She's your girl, mate," he said to James. "_I _trust her."

"Me, too," said Remus grudgingly.

Oddly, it was James who hesitated the longest. "Well…" he said slowly.

"James!"

"We—the four of us—well…in fifth year…you see, Moony here…"

"_James!_"

"We're Animagi."

Whatever Lily had suspected, or had been anticipating, it wasn't that. Her own best theory had been that Remus had, at some point, infected his three friends, which was a little preposterous but not utterly so. The fact that her three friends had achieved such extremely advanced magic shocked her, but at the same time relieved her. She stood stock-still, sputtering incoherently, for several moments.

Then, finally and faintly, "What form…?"

"Stag," said James.

"Dog," said Sirius. "A magnificent beast of awesome beauty…"

"…who drools…" quipped James.

"I'm a rat," said Peter, and Lily had no trouble visualizing this.

"_Animagi_," she muttered again, disbelievingly. "If somebody found out…"

"That's half the fun!" cried Sirius.

Memories began to surface, and Lily frowned. "So that rat you 'trained' to attack Snape was actually—?"

"Peter," confirmed James, smirking unapologetically.

"And that dog at the platform last Christmas who kept licking my face—?"

"That was me," said Sirius, snickering.

"I don't blend in so well," said James, grinning. "I'm much better-looking, though."

"Wow," said Lily softly, truly awed. She had read several reports of Animagi transformations gone terribly wrong, and that these three had managed it years ago was astounding.

"As much as I enjoy appreciation for my boundless brilliance," said Sirius, "I was saying just a moment ago about a conversation I overheard in the library…"

And he recounted that and his many suspicions, and his friends' frowns deepened by the passing minute.

-/-

It was two o'clock in the morning when Harry was shaken rather roughly to consciousness by a particularly small but well-groomed house-elf who, without bothering to obtain permission, Apparated the deeply befuddled and only partially awake young man into a blindingly well-lit room. He drew his wand and managed to utter a feeble cry of protest before he was halted.

"All's well," said the familiar, calming voice of Albus Dumbledore, whose tall figure Harry's eyes at last managed to focus upon. "I called you here so unceremoniously because this young intruder professes to know you."

Harry frowned, puzzled, then looked past his old mentor to the form behind him and gave a gleeful shout as he launched himself upon the familiar youth.

**I am so so so so so sorry that I took so long in updating…I've had such little access to computers in the past three weeks that I personally wonder how I'm still alive. Plus, with school started again… I'll try to make sure it doesn't happen again, but I can't make any promises, except that I'll strive for faster—and better!—writing.**

**About that 'better writing'…one reviewer put this and my last chapter most excellently, saying that they're sort of set-up chapters for events that will take place soon. That is very accurate, and I thank whoever that was (I'm far too lazy to go back and check. Sorry.).**

**To Alianne of Tortall: HAHA! Now you have to update! And yes, have Luna commentate!!**

**To everybody in general: Check out my oneshot…it's a sad Snape fic about his relationship with Lily, so if you like that kind of thing…**

**As always, REVIEW!! And on that note…OVER ONE HUNDRED!! WOOT!!!!**


	9. Realizations

**Chapter 9: Realizations**

Harry, laughing almost hysterically, caught Ginny Weasley up in his arms and spun her around once, twice, then set her on her feet and, unable to restrain himself, hugged her tightly again. She was laughing too, her long red hair tumbling messily into hers and Harry's faces. There was a wild sort of hysteria bubbling up in him, threatening to explode from him; he couldn't ever remember being this marvelously, unquenchably happy as he was standing in Dumbledore's office in the distant past, holding Ginny and laughing.

It took several moments—and a few polite coughs from Dumbledore—for the pair to calm down. They swung to face him, and Harry, now bashful, released her.

"Hullo," said Ginny cheerfully, but her eyes were a little guarded. "Er—I'm sorry, sir, for barging in here—but the memory I was given to make this, er, jump was for this office. And in any case, I have a message, for both of you, from…" she paused, "…the man behind the desk." Harry nodded, knowing she meant the portrait of Dumbledore that hung behind the Headmaster's desk. "He says, 'Whatever you do, you're right.' Typically cryptic…"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses. "Yes, I must agree," he said softly. "I've been contemplating Harry's rather unique situation. I have recently come upon the thesis that it is impossible for Harry to change his own present, and there is no better time than _this_ present to explain myself…For example, if there is knowledge in his time that he _was_ a teacher, then there is no changing that fact; no matter what Harry does here, he cannot change his own past, because it has already occurred."

Ginny and Harry, like twin dogs, cocked their heads. Dumbledore smiled.

"It is impossible to change the past," he said, patiently. "You may, by traveling back in time, change the present or the future—"

"That's right!" said Harry suddenly, realization beginning to steal over him. "I used a time-turner once, in my…well, at Hogwarts. We changed what was happening at the time when we turned back, but not what _did_ happen."

"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "Of course, it's not possible for me to prove my thesis, and the consequences of my reasoning could be fatal to many. However, I am reasonably sure of myself—" Harry snorted "—and am willing to risk disaster. On that note…well…"

"What?" said Ginny, a little irritably. Harry smiled; he knew how impatient she could be.

"It's rather late. Perhaps this is a matter for refreshed minds in the morning."

"Professor…"

Dumbledore regarded her for a long moment. "I suppose," he said at last. "What I had meant to say was this: I wish to use your presence to the advantage of the Order's campaign—that is, to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters, for as long as you remain in this time period. Naturally, I understand the risks this would entail, and in no way do I urge you against your will to—"

Harry and Ginny laughed together, at the same moment. Ginny's eyes gleamed fiercely in the dim office light. "Harry, turning down a chance to tear into some Death Eaters?" she said, still chuckling.

Harry mock-glared. "Ginny, turning down a chance to tear into some Death Eaters?" he mimicked.

"Is that a yes?" asked Dumbledore, regarding the pair with perhaps a little too much understanding in his very blue eyes.

"'Course it is!" cried Ginny, rather gleefully for one volunteering to hunt down fellow wizards. She turned, laughing, and hugged Harry again, swiftly.

Harry disengaged perhaps too quickly. "In the meantime, though?" he asked the Headmaster practically. "There's already two people teaching Defense."

"What?" said Ginny.

"That's true," mused Dumbledore, ignoring the girl's outburst. "Two is a stretch, but three would be viewed as simple preposterous. There are no open staff positions."

"Must there be?" said Harry. "She could just stay with me. I can't say she eats like a bird"—he smirked over at her—"but at least she makes her own bed. I think."

"Well, no, I don't…but I am a charming conversationalist."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Seeing as it's nearly three o'clock in the morning, I must pass, with the very deepest of regrets. But Harry is correct; if Professor Lott has no objections, I will endeavor to find you three larger quarters. Miss Weasley—am I correct in assuming your surname?—you will have to earn your living by the success of your field work."

Ginny grinned her fiendish acquiescence, while Harry, who hadn't retired the previous evening until eleven, yawned hugely. Dumbledore, smiling, shooed them away. "We'll talk again tomorrow!" he called after them as they wound their ways down the spiral staircase.

The moment they had closed the door behind them, Harry's eyelids, which had been dropping convincingly, opened wide once more. "Ginny!" he hissed, gripping her forearm tight while she blinked quite calmly up at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Visiting you," she said, casually, trying not to wince at the viselike grip he held her in. "Well, really _staying_ with you—I don't plan on going home too soon."

Harry dropped her arm and turned away. "You shouldn't have come," he muttered.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" she asked, feigning great injury. Then, angrily, "You seemed quite pleased back in that office—"

"Oh, stop," growled Harry. "Of course I'm glad to see you—don't be a git. It's just—"

"—Just that in the year and a half since the war ended, there has been no romantic contact between us, and nothing to indicate that I would take a jump back through twenty-odd years of time to see you?" she snapped.

"Well…yeah."

"Well, _you_ stop it," she growled, beginning to hurry on down the hallway ahead of him; he hesitated, then trotted a few steps to catch up. "In eight years, you have been like a brother to me, a friend, a boyfriend, a best friend. I missed you. And, if you're looking for a selfish ulterior motive, I'm about as bored with 1999 as you were. Or at least as fed up with it."

He smiled wryly, as much to signify a truce as humor. "I doubt that."

She grinned at him, catching the shift in mood and relieved by it. "So who's this Lott fellow? And _teacher_?"

He laughed. "You'll never believe it…"

-/-

James, Sirius, Remus and Lily filed into the secret room behind the tapestry on Sunday morning, Lily bemusedly, staring about her. They were there to hold a "Conference of War" as Sirius put it or, according to Remus, a "Session of Stratagem." Peter, before he'd obtained a double detention from McGonagall for being caught out at night—he'd been too slow to make it under the Invisibility Cloak with his friends—had called their planned meeting a "Phantasmagoria." Lily, rather harshly, had asked him whether he had any idea what the word meant, and he had admitted, with a pathetic cringe, that he didn't.

"So there're really tonnes of these places, all around the school?" said Lily, settling herself onto a huge pile of cushions that the Marauders had collected from all over Hogwarts.

"Wicked, eh?" said Sirius, grinning. "Wish Wormy were here, though…we always make him go get food from the kitchens," he explained.

"Sirius!" rebuked Remus.

"Don't act so saintly, Moony," murmured James, seating himself next to Lily and slipping an arm around her. "As if you've never had him fetch you those steaks you love so much."

"Hey—" began Remus, but he was swiftly silenced.

"No bickering!" said Lily. "Focus on the real problem. Professors Exx and Lott—what we know about them, and what we need to know."

"Hear, hear!" cried Sirius extravagantly, lounging full-length on a worn old sofa.

Lily glared. "Sirius here (unfortunately) is our expert in this. Sirius?"

"Right," said the named Black, sitting up and concentrating. "Harry Exx. Nineteen. Voldemort killed his parents—say, was Voldemort around back then?"

"Dunno," said James. "Moony, keep a page in your notebook—label it 'Suspicious'. Write down everything suspicious we know about this bloke."

There was a small burst of movement as Remus dug into his bag, extracting first a spare notebook and then several quills; he tested each, finally coming up with one whose point wasn't broken or dried out. Then, while the others sighed pointedly, he found a clear page, dipped the quill in a bottle of ink he had to hurry to find, scrawled the word "Suspicious" and then, finally, "Parents murdered by V 18 yrs ago."

"_Thank_ you," said Sirius testily. "Now—nineteen, parents murdered. Immune to the Cruciatus Curse—write that down, Moony. Was in hiding—that too, hey—"

"You don't have to say that every time," grumbled Remus.

"Oh, quit it, you two," said Lily, but distractedly; James was idly stroking her hair, which Lily apparently found to be most enjoyable.

"Right," said Sirius again. "Uh—some government named him to be 'Undesirable Number One'. What did he do? Which government? Why'd Dumbledore hire him?"

"For Merlin's sake, Black, we're saying what we _do_ know, not speculating," growled Lily.

"Fine! Well, we _do_ know that, uh, he's nineteen—"

"Three times! _Three times_ you've said that! What, are you trying to see if he's young enough to court, or something? Get on with it!"

"_Alright_. He's apparently important enough for the Order—probably the Order of the Phoenix—for them to risk their lives for him. He's powerful. He looks exactly like James, except his eyes are green—like Lily's. Say…"

Sirius stopped dead. His lean body was taught, his handsome face very still, his eyes wide and unseeing. "But…" he spluttered, to no one but himself. "But that's…_impossible_…"

Remus looked up from his notes, surprised, and James stopped playing with Lily's hair while she came to attention. "What?" said all three at once.

Sirius's eyes focused only very slowly. "Something Exx said…" he murmured. "I…I thought, after a bit, that I must've just misheard…but maybe…no…"

"Out with it!" said Lily, not as snappishly as usual.

"He said, to Lott, 'You were found to be innocent, _after you died_.' The tenses were all wrong. It didn't make any sense. Future tense, but 'after you died'—and Lott, of course, was perfectly alive right there. And—well, James, remember watching them meet outside Rosmerta's? Exx practically collapsed. What could make him so happy?"

Nobody was quite following him, but they sensed the import of his words, and waited in silence for Sirius to continue.

"Exx—he looks almost exactly like James, except, I dunno, more tired or something—"

"Worn," said Lily, nodding.

"No two unrelated people look that much alike. But James doesn't know who he is. But his eyes…Two months ago, I didn't think too much of it, except as a coincidence…but now…"

"D'you mean…?" breathed Remus, not quite willing to follow through on this particular thought.

"Yes," said Sirius. "What if this Exx bloke is from the future? What if he's Lily and James's kid? What—" but he got no further. A small explosion seemed to have occurred atop the pile of cushions, and it wasn't wholly joyful.

"Oi!" yelled James.

"_Are you kidding me?_ James and I—have a kid—who's _nineteen? _Older than _us?_ And I don't even _like_ him—he's—he's—he's a—"

"He's a berk!" cried James. "He's mean and arrogant and— Say!" Suddenly James's entire demeanor shifted. "Lily and I have a _kid?_ Forget Exx—we get married!" And he twisted and kissed Lily soundly.

Sirius threw a couch cushion at them. "Oi! Celebrate later—in private! We're having a Conference here. Listen! It all makes sense now—those weird tenses—his looks—his eyes—all those crazy campaigns and events he goes on about…He must've gone to Hogwarts, except he couldn't have, he's too young—"

Remus said, with the solemn, serious quiet of the very most important statement, "He said his parents died when he was one."

Absolute silence fell. Sirius was still with shock, his mouth half open, his excited words dead on his lips; Lily's face was frozen in an expression of girlish laughter at James's kiss; and James himself looked like a half-dozen Bludgers had struck the back of his head, one after another. Each, after they were able to think again, turned their slow and sluggish thoughts to the idea of a world without Lily, without James, without both of them; a world where Lily and James's son…if he truly was theirs…would grow up an orphan.

"He—he was lying," said Sirius weakly. "Dramatic effect or—or something…"

"Yeah," said James; then, more strongly, "Yeah! He's a berk, like I said. _We_ had nothing to do with him—" then he stopped, realizing that that sentence might be very true.

"Look—forget it. Maybe Sirius is wrong! I mean…well…time travel. It's not even possible! And—"

"It is," said Lily, very quietly. She looked shell-shocked. "Time travel, I mean. I read about it—just a few weeks ago, actually. I had permission to get a book on advanced poisons—for Potions—and, well, Pince was in binding an old book…so I took my time…and there was this one book…really small…it was called _Should Ever You Wish It_. Really dodgy…some stuff about obtaining the eyeball of your enemy to see the evil traps he's set for you…but there was a whole chapter on time travel. Some of it matched up with some really vague stuff I'd read elsewhere. It was about wand movement—a star shape, maybe—and a spell…it began with a P, I think."

There was silence again.

"It does make sense," said Sirius, quietly, almost apologetically. "And Dumbledore must know the truth—or else why would he hire a nineteen-year-old?"

"And Lott…" murmured James

"Lott…Lott must be somebody who died in Exx's past, but our future! See?"

"I see that you're giving me a headache."

"Who would it be, then?" wondered Remus practically.

"Dunno…somebody we know?" ventured Sirius.

"We'll just have to watch carefully next time we see him," said Lily, a little faintly still. "Merlin! Imagine…what if that Exx really _is_ our son? It's—insane…" With a sigh, she settled back against James, who tucked an arm around her.

And they sat in silence again until Sirius, impatient, told a joke about a griffin playing Quidditch, and they all laughed too loud with relief.

-/-

On Sunday morning, Sirius, impatient and rather too energetic, bounced eagerly through Harry's door and then stopped abruptly, wide-eyed. "Harry," he said loudly as he spotted the red hair poking out from beneath the blankets on his bed, "that's not a _student_, is it?"

A long groan answered him, at which point Sirius learned that his godson was stretched out on the far side of the bed from him. He walked towards the sound and stared down at Harry, whose arm was flung over his eyes against the light streaming through his uncovered window. He sat up, slowly, and swiped at his eyes rather groggily.

"Time is it?" he mumbled, groping around him for his glasses. Then his eyes opened wide and he stood quickly to look down at the figure asleep in his bed. "Ahh…" he said, half a moan.

"It's eleven," said Sirius. Then, severely, "You've missed breakfast. Who the hell is this?"

"You know her—oh. You _will_ know her. She's Ginny Weasley. She, er, traveled back. From my time. But _shh_—let's go out into the office."

"Ginny Weasley? Blimey! I sent the Weasleys a present when she was born…never got to see her, though. Except in that _Daily_ picture—the girl."

"Quiet," grumbled Harry, who had located his glasses and donned them. "Come _on_."

"No, no need _now_," said a querulous voice from the bed, as Ginny pulled the covers from her head to reveal squinted eyes and sleep-tangled hair. "I'm up—no thanks to you. Whoever you are. Lott? Harry wouldn't tell me about you. Ugh. It's too _bright_."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on the tall figure at the foot of her bed, curious. Then, with a cry, she launched herself out from beneath her blankets, off the bed, and hugged Sirius, yelping his name. Bemused, he hugged her back, a little awkwardly, making a face at Harry over her shoulder.

"Uh…Ginny?" said Harry. "This Sirius doesn't know you. He traveled back from my fourth year…your third…before he knew you…"

"What?" she said, detaching herself. She studied Sirius, his healthy face, the very fact that he was alive. "Oh…"

"So I was well-loved, huh?" said Sirius roguishly, unperturbed. "_How_ well loved, though?" And he winked hugely at Ginny.

"Ugh," she said, wrinkling her nose, while the two men chuckled. Her stomach snarled loudly, and their chuckles turned to outright laughter. She glanced down at herself, at her sleep-rumpled clothes; then, with a grin, drew her wand from her pocket and spoke a simple charm for neatness, at which her garments immediately straightened. She smiled brightly at Harry and Sirius.

"Yeah, yeah," said Harry, whose distinct lack of tidiness faded beneath the ferocious onslaught of his stomach. "Come _on_."

Their number suddenly upped to three, they filed from Harry's bedroom and through the office, into the hallway, while Harry happily informed his godfather of the new living arrangements being readied for them.

-/-

James, Sirius, Lily and Remus reached the Great Hall just as the food was appearing on the tables. They grinned broadly at one another, even Lily, whose roller coaster of emotions throughout that morning had awaked a substantial appetite as well. They paused for a moment in the entranceway until they spotted Peter, who hailed them; they hurried over to him, seated themselves, and fell ravenously upon the food laid out before them.

Their exclusion of the outside world was short-lived, however. No more than five minutes had passed before their two much-discussed Defense professors, Exx—or was it Potter?—and Lott entered, accompanied by a young girl who caused even James to gape. Sirius wolf-whistled as she passed, causing an elbow on both sides from Remus and James, and a moment's hesitation from the redhead, whose expression shifted rapidly from bemusement to surprise to delight and then to a closed, inscrutable face. Exx, beside her, laughed softly, but Lott's hunger could not be delayed; he hurried on towards the staff table, thwarting Lily's attempt to glimpse the possible identity of the face behind the beard.

"Blimey, she's—" began Sirius enthusiastically, staring after Ginny's retreating figure, only to be silenced by James's snort and Remus's exclamation of disgust.

"If her appearance runs with Exx's and Lott's, she probably about twenty years younger than you," said Remus loftily, an accomplishment when speaking around a mouthful of treacle tart.

"Not even _born_ yet," added Lily, a little sulkily; she hadn't missed James's expression when the redhead had passed. James grinned and kissed her cheek swiftly, leaving a dollop of sauce but also a much softer expression on her face. They turned together and studied Exx with fresh eyes, wondering.

Peter put forth a question as to what in Merlin's name was going on, but nobody answered him.

"Now, watch Lott," commanded Sirius, though he himself was doing rather more watching of Ginny. "Who does he look like? Anybody?"

Remus squinted. "Well…he looks like a man…with a beard…"

Sirius scowled as he chewed his roast beef.

"I dunno…" said Lily. "You know, he does look a _little_ familiar…like when he laughs—there!—but I can't _quite_ place it. Maybe I'm just imagining it."

James cocked his head, trying to see things from her perspective. "I do see it…kind of…almost…" His voice faded into a bemused expression.

Remus, idly, said, "He _eats_ like Sirius. Ugh. Poor house-elves, having to feed both of them at once."

James laughed, and Sirius grinned proudly. It was Peter, who had caught onto their actions and was squinting with his beady dark eyes at his teacher, who said, "He looks a bit like him, too."

James snorted, but Lily, who had been feeling bad about mocking Peter earlier, kindly tried to give his idea due attention. "You know…" she said slowly after a long moment, "Peter might be right. _Look_ at him. When he laughs—he laughs like Sirius! Listen closely. Nobody laughs like that!"

A little fearfully, the five friends strained to hear Lott's next laugh, and when it came, like a bark, the blood drained from all their faces. "Blimey," murmured Sirius, looking like he'd been walloped with a Beater's club.

"You look _old_," said James wonderingly, who, after the shocking events of the morning, was willing to accept the theory that his professor was a much-aged version of his best friend.

"How long does it take you two to get it on?" Peter asked tactlessly. Lily, and even James to some extent, flushed.

"People!" cried Sirius. "Undue attention is being given to my plight. _Lott spends twelve years in Azkaban!_ And you're talking about Lily and James having _sex_? This is _horrible!_ I am _not_ going to Azkaban. And for what? _Twelve years!_ And I _die!_ Prongs, this is going to be your fault, I know it—"

"Padfoot. Calm down," said Remus, looking a little shocked at Sirius's outburst.

"We die first, you know," said James reasonably.

"_Not after twelve years in Azkaban!_"

A few students were looking their way. Sirius gripped his steak knife as though it were a sword and tried to calm himself. He gave a long moan. "Honestly, if Peter outlives all of us…"

Peter made an offended noise, but wasn't quite brave enough for open objection in the face of Sirius's unhinged state.

"Ha!" exclaimed Lily suddenly. "But this means we make you Harry's godfather, right? Merlin, James, how'd you talk me into _that _one?"

"Hey!" said Sirius loudly. "I'll be a brilliant god— Oi! It's _your kid's_ fault that I die! Blimey, why don't I just kill you all now and end twenty years of suffering?" He stared sullenly at his plate, his hunger gone, for once in his life, before it had been fully sated. "Maybe my revenge will be to seduce Exx's girlfriend there," he said, hopefully, looking up at Ginny again.

Remus snorted, Peter sniggered, and James and Lily objected loudly. Sirius, chuckling, reached for the rolls and instructed James to pass him the jam.

-/-

Dumbledore intercepted Harry, Ginny and Sirius as they were leaving after lunch, leading them off into a small niche from which they could hear, distantly, the sounds of the Hogwarts students dissipating to their various activities following their meal.

"Er," said Lott, by way of asking what was going on.

"Ginevra Weasley, here, as I'm sure you know by now, arrived from the future at two in the morning today," said Dumbledore. "I took the opportunity to discuss with them a certain idea I have been mulling over for several weeks now—you must forgive me, Professor Lott, for not waiting until you were present. Though your identity remains unknown, I believe that you will be of equal assistance in this matter."

"_What_ matter?" said Sirius, impatiently.

"Work for the Order of the Phoenix," said Dumbledore simply. "Perhaps not as fully instated members—that could cause some complications—but certainly with the same amount of use. You can do whatever tasks arise…if you agree…"

Sirius snorted, indicating that his acceptance should have been taken for granted.

"Guarding, hunting, spying, tracking. There may be some battles—I, unlike you, cannot see into the future. However, it's relatively safe to say that confrontation will become unavoidable at one point or another. At such a time, I would hope that all three of you will be present. I don't know in what capacity you were used in your time, or if you were used at all."

Ginny laughed mirthlessly. "Well…" Harry silenced her, and she said, more seriously, "Lott will make sure nothing happens to Harry, and Harry will make sure nothing happens to me; and I'll watch Harry's back, and Harry will watch Lott's back." They had instructed her, over lunch, to keep Sirius's pseudonym in use for the time being.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, and he looked as though he meant it. "I'll be in touch on this matter—frequently, and most likely very soon. Toodles!" And he strode cheerfully away.

"_Well_," said Ginny again. She was grinning, and Harry and Sirius, standing close around her, grinned back, the huge, toothy, cunning grins of the hunter.


	10. Truths

**Chapter 10: Truths**

It was Sunday evening, and Harry and Ginny were sprawled, respectively, in an arm chair and on a couch in the sitting room of their newly acquired living space. Sirius was absent, probably in the company of a woman—whether at Hogwarts or in Hogsmeade, Harry preferred to remain ignorant of. He hardly cared, however; his godfather's nonattendance allowed for some much-appreciated time alone with Ginny, whose presence Harry was still adjusting too.

"So," said Harry, stretching his long legs out before him and yawning a little, "how're Ron and Hermione?"

Ginny grinned. "They've gotten their own flat—the day after you left, actually; apparently they'd been planning it for a while. It's a tiny little space, smelled horrid when they first moved in…they could afford better, really, now Ron's working with George, but Hermione insists on paying half and she's broke. 'Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures'—she still says the whole name every time she has anything to say about it, it's infuriating. 'Course, Ron says it's _endearing_…"

Harry snickered.

"Ron's talking about going into training to be an Auror," added Ginny, which Harry already knew; he nodded. "And anyways, George is thinking of franchising…stepping back from the actual work…running it all from a distance…"

"How is George?"

Ginny sighed. "He's…all right. Getting along. No change, really, since you've left. He's just kind of…there…without having any interest in _being_ there."

Harry winced and was quiet for a moment. Then, "How long _have_ I been gone?"

Ginny grinned again, more broadly now. "Two weeks. It took that long for us—Ron, Hermione, and me—to get McGonagall to tell us where you'd went. Hermione said I'd better hurry up and go, or you'd be back already." She laughed.

Harry, considering, didn't join her. "But doesn't that prove Dumbledore's theory? For the spell to work, you have to use a memory, which means that I'll be using yours to get back if you came from a time two weeks ahead of when I left…which means you must've been coming all along…"

His voice faded. Ginny laughed again, then cocked her head thoughtfully, lifting her slender form up onto one elbow. "How're things going here? I mean—you were pretty…distant…when you left, and…"

Harry was quiet for a moment, biting his lip. "I dunno," he said at last. "When I came here—well, I was looking for a break, of course. I hated the whole Harry Potter mania. But, see…see, the thing is—and don't take this as, er, arrogance—I'd gotten used to it, mostly, over the years. Being famous. People whispering about me. And here—well, here people don't know or care who I am, and it's…"

"Aggravating?"

"No, not really. Just really odd. It's a completely different life, here.

"But that's not even what's so strange. I've wanted to be anonymous since I was eleven. You know, I really came here because I wanted to see everybody again—my mum and dad, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore…but everything is so…different…from what I expected…." He shook his head, trying to order his thoughts. "I guess I was kind of expecting a huge reunion, to be accepted, to be a son and a friend and a student again. But I'm not. I'm just a—a teacher, and a suspicious one at that." He smiled ruefully.

Ginny nodded her understanding. "Are things really so weird with the Marauders? I saw them watching us all through lunch… It's odd, seeing them, alive and young—younger than us."

Harry shrugged. "Sirius has taken to stalking me. I think he set Peter on me, too. Lily thinks I'm evil, Remus is just _there_—he's a pretty dull student, keeps his nose too clean—and James ignores me. It's so—"

"Aggravating?" supplied Ginny again, grinning.

Harry laughed. "Yes!"

Ginny rolled over onto her back, luxuriously stretching long legs bared by the shortness of her skirt. Harry watched her, his eyes half-lidded, thinking. He was remembering his final year at Hogwarts, when he and Ginny—who had been tutored by Hermione over the summer on the work missed in the months she had spent in hiding—had been in the same year, studying together, playing Quidditch together, recovering after the losses of the war—together. He sighed, very slightly; but she heard, and turned her head to glance at him. Their gazes met, serious, solemn, a little sad.

"Is it weird—me being here?" she asked softly.

"Yes," said Harry truthfully.

They were quiet for a bit. "It was always weird, wasn't it?" she murmured. "I had a crush on you—was in love with you—for years…then there was Cho...Merlin, I hated her…"

Harry chuckled softly. "Then I was in love with _you_. And then there was war, and we couldn't be together…"

"…and then our final year of Hogwarts, and we were both trying so hard to be friends…"

They sighed together. "In fact," said Ginny, smiling a little, "the only time it _wasn't_ weird was when we were together."

There was an opening there that a slug couldn't miss, but Harry, partly from two years' habit, partly from cowardice, partly from residual depression over his present plight, and partly for some huge, unnamable reason, was silent. Ginny watched him, her head cocked slightly so that he thick red hair fell in a long waterfall to lay in coils on the couch; and her face carried an expression of some understanding, but mostly disappointment.

-/-

"We are here," said Sirius, his posture immaculate, his voice deep and laughably noble, "to hold—"

"—again—" muttered James sulkily.

Sirius glared. "_To hold _—ahem—a Conference of War."

"Session of Stratagem," persisted Remus stubbornly.

"It's almost midnight," moaned Peter, who, with Lily in the fourth seat usually reserved for him, was seated on the bare stone floor.

"You're free to leave, I'm sure," said Lily coldly, who had Astronomy in half an hour and hardly cared about the time. Peter lapsed into sullen silence.

"Could everybody just _shut up?_" growled Sirius. "Honestly, people—we need a plan of action. I for one _refuse_ to go to Azkaban. And James, you know I'd _prefer_ if you didn't die in five years…"

"Hear, hear," said Remus.

"'Course, we don't know what happens to you, Moony, or to Wormy here—but I'm sure Exx knows. He must know everything about us—including when we die, how to prevent it, how to prove myself innocent."

"Hold that thought!" said James suddenly. "Moony, quill and parchment, quick! I just had the best idea for next Saturday's game—"

"_Prongs!_ Honestly! You're going to _die!_ Do you _care?_ Dead! Gone! Your son will grow up to be a berk—I'll go to Azkaban—and all you care about is next Saturday's Quidditch game with Slytherin? …Though, by the way, make sure tell Perdinns to fly low, he was above you for half the game last time—"

Lily laughed.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Yes, the concern for your fates truly is phenomenal. But you know, if you want to learn anything, you're thinking all wrong. You're discounting things. _Think_."

Everyone was silent.

"Well, really," said Remus, looking a little flustered by the attention being showed to him. "This new girl—the redhead. There's no open teaching positions—and I doubt she's old enough to teach, anyways. Well, while Lott and Exx are in class, we go and find her."

There was a moment's quiet reflection. Then— "Of course! Moony, you're brilliant!" cried Sirius. "I'll seduce the redhead to draw the information from her—"

"Oh, please," snorted Lily.

"You're a dog," said James.

"_Not _what I had in mind," agreed Remus dryly. "No…we'll make it out to be some sort of welcoming gesture. They don't know we know, right? We'll surprise her—wheedle it out of her…."

"_Then_ sleep with her!" said Sirius triumphantly.

Remus rolled his eyes again. "If Plan A doesn't work, you can have the first turn."

-/-

Remus, Lily, James and Sirius all had Monday morning off; Peter had Herbology and Muggle Studies, which were soundly agreed upon by the rest of the Marauders to be the dullest subjects. They were supposed to be "effectively utilizing" their free time and reviewing; instead, they were trying to locate the mysterious redhead whose name, they had inquired after that morning, was Ginny, and all the while wishing they had the Marauders' Map.

It was Lily who found her in the library, taking a long, secret moment to study the girl's extensive beauty: her long, slender, shapely legs; the flat stomach hinted at by the tightness of her elegant, coyly concealing top; her great masses of red hair; her flawless pale skin; her large grey eyes. Lily was quite oblivious to her own loveliness, and felt a slight twinge of envy for this stranger.

Then she snuck away, found Sirius in a moment, then, with his scenting as a dog—which she found highly amusing—Remus, and lastly James. Swiftly they backtracked to the library, where Ginny still sat, one leg crossed over the other, in a red armchair in a corner by the Restricted Section.

"Hullo," said Sirius cheerfully, moving into her sight from behind the bookshelf where the four had been watching her; behind him came Lily, James and Remus.

She glanced up, calmly, unflustered, and her blank look changed swiftly to a broad smile. "Hullo," she said amicably.

"We wanted to, ah, welcome you—to Hogwarts."

"I'm sure you did," she said dryly. She carefully closed the book she had been reading, marking her place with an index finger, and sat a little taller, pushing the hair from her face with her free hand. The volume's back was turned up; Lily would've liked to know its title.

"But really," said Remus, his face uncharacteristically earnest, "James and Lily here are Head Boy and Girl. It's our _duty_ to come say hello—show you around the school—"

"Oh, that's all right," she said. "Really."

"Are you _sure_ you wouldn't like a tour?" said Sirius, leaning casually toward her, his voice thick with persuasiveness; Lily, watching his profile, saw him wink.

Ginny laughed. "Sirius, that is disturbing on far too many levels." Then, so subtly Lily barely noticed it, a tiny tinge of color appeared in her fair cheeks. Had she realized she had slipped up, showing her knowledge of the boy's name?

"Ha!" Sirius's charm was gone in an instant. "Would that have anything to do with how familiar you are with my future, horrifically aged self?"

There was so little hesitation that Lily, who had lived and worked alongside the Marauders for years, was impressed. "Future self?" she said bewilderedly.

"Sirius Black," said James with the cold patience of an annoyed professor, "the bearded one. And Harry Potter—my, er…son."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. Lily, having patrolled for years as a Prefect, recognized that she was calculating, considering. Then, with a tiny snort, she let her posture slip and collapsed back into her chair. "For Merlin's sake—did they _tell_ you?"

"More or less," said Sirius smugly.

Ginny glared at him, all cold disdain. "I like your future self much better. The Sirius _I_ know isn't such a—"

"Man-whore?" suggested James, grinning.

Ginny laughed, then looked surprised that she had. "He probably lost it—" she began, but stopped herself.

"After twelve years spent in Azkaban?" supplied Sirius quietly.

Ginny looked startled, then, rather reluctantly, nodded. "How much do you all know? Do they _know_ you know? And—" her eyes narrowed again as she examined each one of the youths before her and then the space around them "—where's Wormtail? Er—Peter Pettigrew?"

"Class," said Remus. "So, tell us—why was Sirius sent to Azkaban?"

Ginny winced. "Er…I'd rather not say. And I think you'd rather not know." She looked up at them, sighed, drew her wand and with a single swift spell called four chairs into existence. "Sit down," she said. "I have the feeling that this will take a while."

They did, but refused to be dissuaded. "Why was Sirius sent to Azkaban?" demanded James.

She studied them. "You _really_ want to know?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Sirius.

She bit her lip. "Well…listen. That's far more Sirius and Harry's business than mine. Just…talk to them. On that note—why _haven't_ you talked to them?"

The exchanged glances.

"Well…" said Sirius, rather shiftily.

"Because…" began James, then stopped.

"They don't like them very much," said Remus confidingly in a stage whisper.

Ginny blinked. "_Why_?"

"Lily doesn't like them because she thinks they're twisted," explained Remus as Lily blushed. "James—"

"_Twisted?_" cried Ginny. "For Merlin's sake—why?"

"Exx—er, Harry—was going to have Lott perform the Cruciatus Curse on him," said Lily sullenly. "For a reward to a student! It's sick. Who does that?"

Ginny laughed merrily. Was she laughing _at_ her? wondered Lily, who was developing a horrific inferiority complex. "But he's immune," said Ginny. "It doesn't hurt him at all. He just jerks around a bit. Surely he told you that?"

"_How_ is he immune, though?" said Sirius eagerly, leaning forwards in his chair.

Ginny winced. "Uh…that's more along the lines of Harry's business, too. It has to do with…no, I can't even tell you that. Listen, do you have all morning off?"

They nodded. Ginny paused a moment, considering, then fished a single galleon from her pocket, holding it still in her flat palm for a moment. The Marauders and Lily watched her, uncertain, as she once again drew her wand and applied magic—though of what kind, they didn't know—to the coin.

"Er—" said Sirius uncertainly.

She smiled at him. "It's from a club Harry started in his fifth year—a Defense club, when Voldemort was once again at large but nobody believed his story, and our Defense professor wouldn't teach us so much as a Shield Spell. If I alter this coin, his will burn, and he'll know I'm trying to contact him. Hopefully he still has his… It was a very secret society," she said in answer to their perplexed expressions. "Harry was almost expelled when they found out."

"Er…what d'you mean?" said James. "'Voldemort _once again _at large but nobody believed his story'?"

She grinned at them, mockingly. "So you're wondrous spying hasn't gained you that much, after all!" She laughed. "You know you die—but not how, or when, or where? What's the good in that?"

"Can you tell us _anything_?" said Sirius snappishly.

Her eyes were merrily sly. "I can tell each of you your fates. Who you marry, if you do; when you die, to the day—"

"We _all_ die?" exclaimed Remus.

She blushed. "I was _going_ to add 'if you do in the next twenty-five years.' Listen—I never really got—I've never really _gotten_—to know any of you very well…except maybe you, Remus, and even that is a shaky statement. Harry knows you, Sirius was your friend—let them explain. What time is it?"

Remus blinked at the abrupt shift in conversation. "It's—ten after twelve," he said, and blinked again in surprise.

"Well, if Harry got my message, he should be here fairly soon," she said, and, opening her book, settled back in her chair with the finality of 'case closed'. The four studied her, rather put off, but obediently waited in silence, if a sullen one.

They arrived some twenty minutes'—though it seemed like several hours'—forced silenced later. Ginny heard Harry's quick, sharp steps a good thirty seconds before he could be seen, and sat up; the others glanced at her, then behind them, and half-rose. Harry, his face anxious, froze at the sight of the five of them, his expression shifting sluggishly to one of great bewilderment. Sirius said "Oi!" at his godson's sudden halt before coming alongside him and stopping too.

Harry recovered quickly, but he avoided the Marauders', and especially Lily's, eyes. "We need to spell locations onto these coins." He addressed Ginny alone, a little sulkily; he clearly didn't find this particular surprise to be enjoyable. "We've been looking for you for fifteen minutes."

"I'll get right on that," said Ginny dryly. "Sit down, you two," she added, drawing her wand once more and causing another two chairs to form from nothingness.

They did, slowly and reluctantly. "What's going on here?" said the elder Sirius, directing his question, with the slightest note of condemnation, at Ginny.

"Well—" began Ginny, then stopped. She glanced at the four students and shrugged. "Go on," she instructed them. "It's not my affair."

The younger Sirius scowled at her, leaving James to take a deep breath and say, "We know you're from the future."

There was a moment of petrified blankness—then Harry shot out of his chair like a human rocket, shaking, opening his mouth once or twice—finally he whirled towards Ginny and shouted, angrily, almost desperately, "You _told_ them?"

"_Excuse me?_" gasped Ginny. "You—"

"QUIET BACK THERE!" roared the surprisingly ferocious voice of Madame Pince, whose admonition had an oddly calming effect on all parties. Harry sank back into his chair.

The elder Sirius was cleaning under a thumbnail, chuckling softly. Harry turned on him, opening his mouth to snap at him, then closed his jaw shut so suddenly his teeth clacked audibly. "You _knew_," he growked after a moment.

Sirius looked up, grinning. "'Course I did," he said happily. "From the moment I got Dumbledore's letter…" he laughed.

Harry scowled, thought of Sirius's apparent shock in Rosmerta's, and allowed his scowl to deepen. Before it had quite faded, he turned to the four Gryffindors ranged before him and asked, bracingly, "How much do you know?"

They exchanged a glance.

"We know that you're our son," said James at last, meeting Harry's gaze squarely, almost challengingly. "And that Voldemort will kill us when you're one."

"I know that he's me," said the younger Sirius, gesturing to his elder self, who grinned shamelessly at him, an expression that his teenaged counterpart haughtily ignored. "I know that I'll be your godfather, that I'll spend twelve years in Azkaban, go into hiding, die before you're nineteen and only then have my name cleared."

"You've been spying," said Harry emotionlessly.

"'Course," said both Siriuses and James at once.

Harry glared at each of them and then, unable to restrain himself, smiled, shaking his head. He sat back down. "Here," he said suddenly, reaching into his robe's pocket. "I'm sure you'll make better use of it, anyways." He tossed the Marauder's Map into his seventeen-year-old father's lap.

"I missed this," murmured James, lifting it and smiling fondly down upon the worn parchment. "Thanks. I'm—well, glad you found this—find this." He grinned suddenly. "I'd hate to think—"

"—that your son never finds any of the secret passageways out of the school? That what Remus here'll tell me in twenty or so years."

James and Remus glanced at each other, startled. "Do I give it to you?" said Remus.

Harry laughed. "Nah—you confiscate it, in my third year, when you're teaching at Hogwarts."

"_What?_" cried his godfather, sitting bolt upright. "He never told me _that_ part. Confiscating the Map from a Marauder's son—the mutt!"

"I seem to remember the incident being at least _vaguely_ related to you," said Harry mildly, grinning. Sirius scowled over at him.

"What's this?" The younger Black leaned forwards eagerly, sensing that they were at last nearing the unveiling of his future. "'Something to do with'—me? Go on!"

There was a hesitation.

"Sirius?" said Harry reluctantly, glancing at his godfather.

"Sure, go ahead—tell all," he answered. "If I'm ever going to get a laugh out of twelve years in Azkaban, it's now. In fact—leave it, mate, I'll go on." He grinned broadly at his younger self, the well-loved, well-groomed youth, with his loyal friends and petty enemies, and his smile faltered; and when he continued, his voice was no longer lighthearted. "Twelve years in Azkaban," he said softly. "Sentenced without trial for fifteen lifetimes for the murders of twelve Muggles, Peter Pettigrew, and collaboration in the deaths of Lily and James Potter."

There was a shocked silence, far more terrible than Harry or his godfather could have anticipated, broken at last by the horrified, bewildered splutter from the younger Sirius: "_What?_"

"He—you—were innocent, of course," said Harry quickly.

"But it took everybody _twelve years_ to figure that out?" Sirius exclaimed angrily. "What about Moony here?"

"There was, ah, _compelling_ evidence," his professor self said delicately. "He was the first one to believe me, though, after he got past the idea that I'd escaped to get revenge on Harry for Voldemort's downfall—"

"Wait, _what_?" gasped Lily, cutting him off. It was the first time she had spoken in nearly an hour.

"Oh—right," said the elder Sirius, glancing slyly at his godson. "Harry, here, has thwarted our favorite Lord Voldemort—if my tally and his tales are correct—nine times, the first when he was just one."

Harry—along with several of his companions—frowned; he didn't see much amusing in those encounters, and it showed on his face as he gazed at his adolescent mother. "I was one," he restated quietly. "There was a prophecy made that a child would be born at the end of July with the power—or the ability, rather—to overthrow Voldemort. He heard of it…hunted you—us—down…" He took a deep breath. "He killed James first, just inside the door…came up the stairs, to the nursery…he told you that you didn't have to die, gave you the choice to stand aside, but you refused. He killed you… But you had died to save me, and it was a magic that gave me almost limitless protection from him… And when he tried to kill me, he was destroyed. Or at least," he gave a bitter little laugh, "his body was."

Lily was crying quietly. James shot Harry a quick, halfhearted glare—how dare you make her cry?—and went to kneel beside her chair. The younger Sirius watched them for several long moments, looking vaguely dumbstruck. "Do we all die?" he murmured at last.

Harry, his godfather and Ginny traded a long look. Both of the former looked as though they could give no more bad news, so it was Ginny, rather awkwardly, who answered at a nod from her companions.

"Yes," she said quietly. "Sirius, you're killed by Bellatrix Lestrange—your cousin. Voldemort finishes off Peter, and Remus, you die just a little before Voldemort—Antonio Dolohov, a Death Eater, kills you."

The fact that Voldemort, murderer and oppressor, would someday be killed made little difference to the horror-struck teenagers. It was then that Sirius, the younger one, gave the weakest chuckle of his life. "Well, at least Moony lives longest," he said, leaning over and giving Remus a sort of pat—it was most likely meant to be a jocular slap—on the shoulder. "It _would_ be him. Maybe if we all turned to honest schoolwork and repented our many pranks, we'd each get an extra five years."

Nobody even made an effort to laugh at this, though Lily had stopped crying. The teenaged Sirius stared at them, then stood abruptly, scowling.

"Stop it—all of you!" he yelled angrily, not faltering at Pince's distant bellow. "Everybody knows they'll die someday—what's it matter that we know who'll kill us or when? Lily, quit _blubbering_" —though she'd already stopped— "and everybody, stop looking so—so—"

"Woebegone?" supplied his older self casually.

He blinked. "Well, yes," he finished rather lamely, and sat back down, frowning.

Harry cleared his throat following a short pause. "I agree with the Siriuses," he said, and grinned briefly at his own wording. "It's not as though the rest of your lives will be horrible. You two'll get married, after Lily hated you for so long—"

"Oi!" said James. "How'd you know that?"

Harry smirked at them with immature delight. "Found out from Snape's memories," he said smugly.

"_Excuse me?_" cried all four students at once.

Ginny and Harry burst out laughing at their scandalized expressions, but the professor Sirius crossed his arms and scowled sullenly. "He's a hero in our time," explained Harry. "One of the great heroes of the war against Voldemort…he died in the final battle. Order of Merlin, First Class. I accepted it on his behalf."

There were multiple shocked splutters.

"Harry lobbied for it," added Ginny, grinning.

"Traitor!" cried James.

"Oh, quit," said Harry, showing real distaste for his teenaged father for the first time. "We would've lost the war several times over if it weren't for him. And don't be such a hypocrite, Lily—you two were best friends for years."

She and James, who still knelt at her side, shot identical glares at him. Harry sighed. "If it makes you feel any better, he always hated me. He said I was as arrogant as my father, Merlin, hundreds of times. He taught me Potions," he elaborated, "and nearly failed me every year."

"That _does_ make me feel better, actually," said James coldly.

"Oh, stop," said Remus. "We have to go, anyways—class."

"We've missed lunch!" moaned the teenaged Sirius. Both his and his counterpart's stomachs gave twin snarls of hunger. It was too much; everybody burst out laughing, then stood reluctantly. Ginny rid them of the chairs she had created.

"What now?" said James, looking at his professor—his _son_. He was struck, suddenly, by the depth of the lines worn around his mouth, into his forehead, at the corners of his eyes; by the horrific memories reflected in the emerald of his eyes; by the many disasters that had struck this man, and even more by the poise with which he bore them. He felt suddenly ashamed of the fear he had shown in the face of his own death. How many times, he wondered, had this boy-hero nearly died, nearly seen those he loved die?

"What now?" Harry echoed slowly. "Nothing, I guess. I'm your professor. I'm certainly not your son yet, no matter what I'll be in four years. I still have to teach you to make a decent Patronus, and you still have to hand in your essay on the Unforgivable Curses."

"About that…" began the younger Sirius.

Everyone grinned, except Harry, who merely shrugged. "I'll admit…I'll admit I came here wanting nothing more than to see the men—and woman—who would, and still do, haunt me for so many years. But—and this isn't an insult—you're just teenagers, just schoolchildren, not heroes at all. Not _my_ heroes."

The four looked blankly at him, wondering if they should be hurt by that or not. Harry hesitated, regarding them soberly, then sighed. "I have fourth-year Hufflepuffs now," he said. "You, too, Sirius."

He and his godfather strode through the others and away into innumerable books. They heard, distantly, Harry giving an excuse to Pince for the noise, and then—silence.

"Well," said Ginny.

"How much did that _really_ clear up?" mused Remus, still watching the aisle between which his professors had passed.

Ginny took it upon herself to answer. "He gets like that sometimes. Since he was just a kid, people have expected him to be a hero. The worst part is that he does it. The hero act, I mean. He saves people, and saves people, and kills Voldemort—and still people want more of him. He says he came here for you four," she said, "but he really just wanted a break. Don't ask too much of him."

Sirius appeared to disregard all of this when he asked, the moment she had finished, "Are you two together?" Remus stepped on his foot, hard, beneath their robes, but Sirius ignored him.

She blinked. "Pardon?"

"Together. A couple. Snogging. Whatever."

For a moment it looked as though she might hex him. Then—and she wasn't sure, at that time or in the days afterward, why she answered as she did—she said, "Yeah. Why?"

Sirius didn't answer. James, looking sideways at him, was shocked to see the briefest indication of true disappointment on his best friend's face, and frowned.

Ginny, for one, didn't seem to notice. "Excuse me," she said pointedly. "I have reading to do."

Only Lily, who cast a last lingering glance backwards as she exited with her friends, noticed the title on the redhead's book: _One Thousand Curses to Vanquish the Evil_. Well, well, well, she thought as she trotted to catch up to James, who held a hand out to grasp her own. If Voldemort is gone in her time, why read that? It seems we have another mystery. She smiled suddenly. She was becoming far too much of a Marauder for her own good.

----

**Readers!! I am so sorry—again—about how long it took to post. This time it wasn't even laziness or lack of access to a computer…I forgot my notebook, which had half this chapter in it, at the public library!! Ugh. I got it back—obviously—but it took four days because of the library being closed and my dad being unable to drive me. So, sorry. Anyways, while I was without the notebook, I started in on Chapter 11 already…**

**I'm also sorry that nothing much happened in this chapter, except a helluva lotta talking. I meant to begin some Death Eater hunting, but you see how that turned out. Next time, next time…**

**And, finally, in my sweetest, kindest, most persuasive and winning voice…Review, please.**


	11. Hunt

**Author's Note: Normally I'd put this at the end of the chapter, but I have a feeling you won't be in the mood to read anything I've written by the time you get there. Advance apologies.**

**Speaking of apologies—I can't begin to say how sorry I am for abandoning this story for so long. I can't even believe it's been two years, a wait that was completely unfair to all the people who have so faithfully followed and reviewed Trouble Rebounds. Most of chapter eleven was written about twenty-six months ago, which is a very long stretch of time that seems to have passed very, very quickly. I tried on several occasions to finish this chapter—saved as "C11" on my USB stick, a file name that has been glaring at me for ages—but somehow could never seem to do more than just edit the nine pages already written. **

**What have I been doing? I'm not even sure. I wrote a couple other ff stories, a bunch of my own stories, read a whole lot, but mostly I was immersed in school and sports. More importantly: when will I update next? I would love to say tomorrow (really I would) but I doubt it. It's January of my grade 12 year. All but two of my university applications are gone (along with them about fifteen different essays—grr), but I still need to keep my grades up, and finish training rats for my psychology internship (please note: that is NOT a joke), and go see **_**Avatar**_** a second time, and spend some time doing a few other things that seventeen-year-olds do that doesn't necessarily need to be detailed in a fanfiction author's note.**

**So. That rambled. I'm keeping you from the chapter, so here's my real answer: I will update when I can. I will try to make that soon. I love everybody who reads, and I worship everybody who reviews.**

**Also—when I was rereading this fic (a necessary task after two years away) I fixed a lot of mistakes and reposted all the chapters. I'm sure there's tons of errors I didn't catch—I was speedreading—but hopefully I got a lot of them. (I also deleted a couple of the more intense demands for reviews, because quite frankly I scared myself once or twice.)**

**Ahem. And here ends the epic AN. So sorry. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 11: Hunt**

On Monday evening, Harry and Ginny skipped dinner to avoid running into the Marauders, ignorant of the fact that the Marauders were implementing precisely the same plan. Unfortunately, both parties, having skipped lunch, found themselves unable to last through the night without nourishment, and their plans were utterly botched when they met up at the kitchens at eleven o'clock.

"Um," said Ginny, or something along those lines, as she caught sight of the four shadowy figures clustered around the portrait of fruit further along the passage. She and Harry froze.

"Er," agreed Harry. He half-turned, apparently to sneak back down the hallway, but Ginny grabbed his elbow and hissed a fierce, wordless scolding at him. Hearing her, the Marauders turned, only to halt abruptly, unpleasantly startled by the reappearance of their library companions of several hours ago.

Ginny merely rolled her eyes and stalked the distance between the two small groups. "Well, _I'm _hungry," she declared; her tickling of the pear was more of a fierce jabbing, causing it to jump backwards into a banana. A door handle nevertheless appeared and she grabbed and twisted it as she cast a disparaging look back at the others.

Harry couldn't help but smirk; anyways, he was very hungry, and there really was no point to avoiding the Marauders or his young mother. Grinning slightly, he swept past them and along into the kitchen, sighing with relief as the sight and smell of hundreds of foods bombarded him with hearty promises of succulence and nourishment. Suddenly crowded by a dozen eager elves begging for the honor of serving him, he cheerfully called for two butterbeers, an apple and then a meat pie, five sausages, a roast chicken, over-easy eggs and a dish of mashed potatoes.

"Blimey," said a tentatively teasing voice behind him. "And I thought Padfoot ate like a horse."

Harry turned to grin at his very young father. "I'm _starving_," he said unabashedly.

"Me too," agreed Ginny, and doubled Harry's order.

"The usual for my young masters?" squeaked a little house elf, scampering to Sirius's side. The Marauders voiced a bellow that was half cheer, half ravenous roar.

Naturally, Harry, being a teacher, was served first, within moments. He raised his eyebrows at Ginny, sarcastically requesting her permission; then, at her nod, gave a short, vague farewell to the Marauders and turned away.

"Whoa!" yelled Sirius. Harry half-turned back to him, his head tipped sideways in query. "You're not going to give us a detention or anything? You said you were just our teacher."

Was that a jibe? Harry frowned; it certainly had the tone of one. A quick glance at James showed the other Potter also regarding Sirius curiously. He shrugged. "It would be a little hypocritical," he said simply, and darted from the kitchens before he could be forced into any more awkwardness. Ginny followed him, her wand out to direct the floating platter before her. No one noticed her troubled frown.

* * *

After breakfast the next morning—which, by the command of their stomachs, Sirius, Harry, and Ginny refused to miss—they were drawn aside by Dumbledore and led into a small stone chamber behind the staff table. Though the doorway reminded Harry of a certain unfavorable evening in his fourth year, the room was much smaller than in his memories.

"_Please_ tell us that you have a mission—any mission," said Sirius, collapsing into a chair against the wall. Harry glanced at him sharply and noticed, to his surprise, the shadows under his godfather's eyes and the other too numerous signs of exhaustion. He frowned. Since Ginny had arrived, he'd barely spoken to Sirius, let alone taken the time to worry about his health.

"I do indeed," said Dumbledore amiably, his keen blue eyes resting solemnly on Sirius's face.

There was a long silence.

"Yes?" prompted Ginny, leaning against the wall. Harry, beside her, grinned briefly; he was all too familiar with the Headmaster's patterns of speech, no matter which decade he might be in.

"It revolves around the safety of my students," said Dumbledore. "_Your_ students. As you should know, there are students—mainly in the Slytherin House—already involved in the Dark Arts. Many of these have already joined Voldemort's army of 'Death Eaters'"—his voice was saturated with derision and anger—"and most of the remainder are looking for the opportunity to make their loyalties clear and be accepted by Voldemort."

"And you want us to find out who they are?" guessed Harry.

"In a roundabout way, yes. I do want you to identify them, but that's not your end objective. The students are only puppets. The root of the problem lies in the ranks of the Death Eaters themselves—"

"—in Voldemort," said Harry, scowling.

"Yes, but that's a rather dangerous goal—perhaps impossible, and certainly not one I'd leave to one as young as you—no offense meant."

Ginny snorted, but softly; she was well aware of Harry's wishes of anonymity concerning his more extraordinary feats.

"Your true goal," Dumbledore continued, "is to discover the names of the students' contacts among the Death Eaters, and when and where the groups meet. And it would be best if you used maiming and murdering only as a last resort."

Sirius, Harry and Ginny glanced at each other, then at Dumbledore. Though they had been expecting some sort of task, the suddenness and seriousness of being assigned to such a job was a little startling. At last Sirius spoke.

"Is there anything that we can go on?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "There are some known Death Eaters in this school—that is, known in the sense that I can tell you, with absolute assurance, that they have been branded, though they have not yet made a move to compromise the safety of their fellows in any way. Severus Snape, Marius Avery—seventh year Slytherins, of course—and their general close associates should be your focus of attention."

Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance. Sirius opened his mouth, apparently to speak, but shut it quickly.

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "This may seem like child's play, but, in truth, I can't stress the importance of this mission enough. As Headmaster of this institution, I have a responsibility to protect my charges—as do you, as teachers. These students are being corrupted. If you conduct yourselves properly, it is possible that we could not only prevent future recruitment of young witches and wizards from Hogwarts, but permanently end the involvement of current students in Voldemort's plots."

That last bit seemed a little naïve to Harry, but he could fully appreciate the rest of his speech. He nodded his solemn acceptance of the task; Ginny and Sirius mimicked him.

Dumbledore, apparently satisfied, made to leave, but turned back at the last moment. His sharp blue eyes studied the very different men and woman ranged before him. There was a slight frown upon his face—not one of distrust, but perhaps of mild bemusement. He said nothing, though, and the oddity of his scrutiny passed as he once more turned and left the room.

"_Well_," said Ginny.

"Spying!" said Sirius, grinning a little. "I always loved spying."

"We know," said Harry, but without anger. His green eyes shining with only half-suppressed enthusiasm, he flexed his long-fingered hands as if already preparing himself for battle. Ginny, catching the movement, stretched her mouth wide in a grin that showed too many teeth.

* * *

Classes passed in a haze that day. For once, Harry found himself unable to care much about Regulus Black's frequent jibes, or any other aspect of the general disrespect of the Slytherin House on a whole. Instead, he and Sirius applied themselves immediately to their task: they studied their Slytherins, particularly the upperclassmen, intensely; they eavesdropped in on their slyly hushed conversations; five times they seized their students' bags on the professed suspicion of dangerous content. They also failed miserably at uncovering any incriminating evidence. The Slytherins were far too devious to be caught at such a thing as Death Eater business in such a place as a Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

By four o'clock, when the last class of the day filed from their room, Sirius and Harry both were frustrated, tired, and exceedingly cranky.

"I don't get it," growled Harry as he stalked alongside Sirius on their way back to their rooms. "What are we doing _wrong_?" He kicked at the wall, succeeding only in causing himself to curse loudly at the resulting pain.

Sirius's dark frown clearly echoed his godson's sentiments. They passed a cheerfully antagonistic portrait in silence.

"Well, how did youkeep _your_ secrets? We just need to put ourselves back into the mindset of teenaged wizards."

Harry, desperate for a solution, gave a few moments' real thought to the question before answering, his voice bitter. "I had good friends," he said. "Other than that, everyone knew my secrets."

"That might help us…or not. No, whatever else can be said of the Slytherins"—the sudden twist in his expression hinted at exactly what those things might be—"they do have the strongest fellowship of all the Houses. Comes from uniting against all the blokes who want to hack 'em to bits," he added in order to remove any possible compliment from his declaration.

But then he had to stop and turn, because, while he had continued walking, Harry had come to a standstill in the middle of his dialogue.

"Harry?"

"That's it!" he cried, his face and tone suddenly reenergized by hope. "Good friends—why didn't I think of this before?"

"Think of _what_ before?" snapped Sirius, mildly irritated.

"Polyjuice Potion! It's what Ron and Hermione and I used in our second year, to find out if Malfoy had opened the Chamber of Secrets…it's perfect!"

For a moment Sirius looked as though he agreed, but his euphoria faded quickly. "Except it takes a month to brew…and you heard Dumbledore; we don't have a month," he added, holding the door of their rooms open.

Harry bit his lip, dropping his briefcase on the floor to one side of the door. "What about some kind of potions supply shop? We could check in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, or see if we can order away."

"Order away for what?" said Ginny, emerging from the depths of the mound of cushions on which she'd been sprawled.

"Polyjuice Potion," said Harry absently. "We got nothing from the Slytherins today, so we want to disguise ourselves as one of them."

Both Sirius and Harry were shocked when Ginny burst out laughing, her expression shifting from mild concern to high hilarity in the span of Harry's response.

"What?" demanded Sirius for the second time.

It took a moment for Ginny's laughing fit to dissipate. "There must be some seer blood in the Weasley family," she said. The sound of her chuckles faded briefly as she strode to her bedroom, then emerged a moment later towing a enormous black duffle bag. "Here," she said, unzipping it and beginning to rummage through its various brightly colored contents. She pulled out two boxes and tossed one each to Harry and Sirius. "Ron had me take a whole load of this stuff before I came. Handy, eh?"

_HIGH-GRADE DELUXE DISGUISING POTION,_ the label proclaimed in painfully flashing neon letters. _ENTERTAIN A PARTY, FOOL YOUR FRIENDS, BEWILDER YOUR ENEMIES_. The face panel displayed a repeating image of an attractive blonde witch dramatically chugging a goblet of potion before magically transforming into a gruesomely hideous wart-nosed wizard.

"Is it…Polyjuice Potion?" Sirius asked uncertainly.

"Not quite," said Ginny, laughing again. "There are laws against selling it, you know. But this works just as well. My brothers tended to have difficulty with legally acquiring a lot of the ingredients they used in their products, so they got really good at finding substitutes…"

As it so often did when she spoke of Fred, Ginny's voice trailed off sadly. Still gripping the miracle that she had given him, Harry crossed the room to sling an arm around her shoulders. "Hey. Fred'd be laughing his head off right now if he could disguise himself as Snape."

She smiled bravely. "Or throwing up."

Harry grinned encouragingly and squeezed her shoulders once more before releasing her.

"These guys are _good_," said Sirius wonderingly, rereading the label. "This is fantastic—really. Are you sure this works? Maybe we should test it…"

"It works," said Ginny stolidly, then hesitated. "But maybe for something like this…I have five boxes; we should test it."

"We'll only need one or two boxes, anyways. It'll be harder to keep up the charade if all of us go."

"I'll go," said Harry immediately.

Sirius and Ginny exchanged a glance. "Er…that's okay," said Ginny in a voice that was clearly meant to only thinly veil an insult.

"You're not exactly the best liar here, mate," agreed Sirius, smirking.

Harry's eyebrows shot towards his inky hairline. Had he not feigned death in a circle of Death Eaters—and Voldemort!—and lived to tell the tale?

"It's true," said Ginny, giggling.

He scowled.

"I'm a better liar," she said.

Sirius nodded sagely. Harry glared between him and his former girlfriend, frowning. He could see already that he wouldn't win this one, but the knowledge did nothing to appease him. Snape had been a devious, dangerous, highly intelligent adult; how much of those traits were available to him at the age of seventeen?

His entire being rebelled against agreeing, but he saw Sirius and Ginny's expressions and knew it was hopeless to protest. "Fine," he said, unhappily, scowling.

* * *

The potion was tested and proved infallible; on Wednesday night Sirius downed a goblet of jubilantly bubbling "Essence of Harry—gross" before transforming into a perfect double of his godson. Already impressed, Sirius admitted awe of the Weasley brothers and their astounding invention.

On Thursday night, Sirius and Harry ambushed Marius Avery and Bennett Gibbon, two of their Seventh-year Slytherin students and close acquaintances of Snape. By six-forty, they were stunned and securely tied in Harry's bedroom, each missing three hairs.

At exactly seven p.m., Ginny and Sirius swallowed their respective portions of snot-colored Avery and scab-colored Gibbon Polyjuice Potion. They winked at Harry with their enemies' eyes, grinned, wrapped themselves in the Invisibility Cloak and swept out the door, leaving their friend to stew in his own anxiety.

Of all the situations that Harry had learned to adapt to over the years, sitting quietly in his room while his friends risked their lives was _not_ one of them. An hour was nothing. Just sixty little minutes—yet the time passed with unbearable sluggishness, each second scraping at his raw nerves.

He tried marking fourth-year essays, but couldn't muster enough concentration to get through the first paragraph of the first parchment he unrolled. He rose, paced the room once, twice, three times, checked on Avery and Gibbon's prostrate forms out of unfounded paranoia, groaned loudly, stormed back into the common room, and checked his watch.

7:07.

"Aaaargh!" he snarled at no one and nothing. He wanted a distraction. No—more than anything, he wanted to be with Sirius and Ginny, protecting them, controlling things…

Well, he was here, and they were there. Wherever that was. He longed for the Marauder's Map, which would at least inform him on whether or not they had reached the Slytherin dungeons, and if they were still alive…

7:11. Less than an hour, and they would be back in his company, most likely with fresh information. Just fifty minutes or so. Yet such rationalizations did nothing for his anxiety.

_Knock, knock_.

The sudden noise jolted Harry more than it should have—he jumped, breaking the even rhythm of his pacing as he twisted towards his door.

"Who is it?" he yelled.

"It's us," answered a familiar voice. "James and Lily."

"Shit," he cursed, too quietly for them to hear. "One second," he called, quickly crossing to his bedroom to make sure that his door was securely latched against the sight of his illegally bound and Stupefied students. "Come in!"

The door swung open; Lily peeked hesitantly around its edge before entering fully.

"It's not like I'm naked in here," said Harry dryly; he was mildly surprised that he could manage humor at a time like this. He checked his watch—7:15.

"Ha, ha," said James, following Lily in. "So this is where you live?" he asked, sweeping his gaze across the room.

He shrugged. Was this small talk from his seventeen-year-old father? Well, at least he was asking questions that he could answer easily enough.

"What are you two doing here?" Harry winced as soon as the words were out; he hadn't meant to ask quite so brusquely.

Lily cringed a little too, clearly uncomfortable, and said, "We just…though we'd swing by, I guess. Kind of—I dunno, get to know you…" she trailed off uncertainly.

James slipped an arm around her. "What she means is—well, we'll never really get to know you very well. And it turns out now that we have a year to spend in—cohabitation—" Harry snorted, and even Lily rolled her eyes "—and you must have come back in time for a reason, right? So…while we're all here together…we might as well get to know each other," he finished lamely.

They all three stared at each other. Harry looked at his watch, sighed, and considered asking if they had the Marauder's Map on them, but refrained for fear of appearing suspicious.

"How were your grades?" asked Lily, seeing as how nobody else was bothering to question anybody.

James and Harry both groaned.

"What?" she demanded. "It's a reasonable question!"

Harry rolled his eyes, but answered. "They were decent. Never outstanding, but always passable. Except maybe Potions—Snape despised me. But I was always top in my class at Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Hard to imagine," James muttered sarcastically. He jumped a little when Lily elbowed him, then cleared his throat. "Quidditch?" he asked hopefully.

Harry grinned, momentarily forgetting Sirius, Ginny and Snape. "I was made Seeker in my first year—the youngest Quidditch player in a century. I got the Captain's badge in my sixth year."

"_Awesome_," said James, grinning broadly.

"I had good genes."

Lily rolled her eyes.

"Hey," said James, pretending to take offence. "Quidditch is an integral part of every wizard's life. Success on the pitch equals success in the real world."

"I agree, of course," said Harry. He abruptly realized that they were all still standing by the door, and, wincing apologetically, he waved them towards the couch. "Sorry. Take a seat."

They did; Harry sat in the armchair, restraining himself from fidgeting. He looked at his watch: 7:24. Lily and James were good distractions.

"So—where's Sirius? And Pettigrew?"

"Sirius—" Lily started to say before she was cut off by James demanding, "You don't like Peter much, do you?"

Harry blinked. "Why do you say that?"

James frowned. "I dunno—you just always get this dodgy look on your face when his name comes up. And you always call him by his last name…and during class you're always a little cold towards him. Why?"

Harry fought back his nervousness. Maybe Ginny was right, he thought, a little queasily. Maybe I am an awful liar. "It's not as though I dislike him," he said.

James appraised him, his gaze calculating. "I think you do," he said at last. "A lot."

"I never really knew him."

"But you did meet him."

He nodded warily. "Briefly. A couple of times. He always seemed a little—cowardly."

To his surprise, James laughed. "People always think Peter's a coward. But he's not; he's just a little timid. And fearful. But if you know how to motivate him, he's capable of controlling his fear and doing incredible things."

Harry shrugged noncommittally as he thought bitterly, Yeah, incredible things—like murdering his two best friends.

James's mirth faded. "He really is a good friend. He's absolutely loyal—I'd trust him with my life." He was bristling a little, upset by the potential insult to his friend.

Ah, thought Harry. If only you _didn't_ trust him with your life. The temptation to shout out Pettigrew's betrayal—to reveal the terrible treachery waiting in his parents' future—nearly overwhelmed him. His green eyes darkened with sorrow. It would be so easy, _so easy_ to save his mother and father. Hadn't Dumbledore told him that there was nothing he could do to change his future? Could the words of their unknown and not fully trusted son truly turn them against their friend of seven years?

No. He couldn't say it. Telling them the time of their deaths was one thing, but warning them of Pettigrew had a much greater potential for disaster. So many had made terrible sacrifices in order to achieve Voldemort's downfall—he couldn't throw that all away on a whim. His face hardened with resolve, and Lily, watching the internal struggle, wondered precisely which situations Harry had seen Peter act cowardly in.

"I'm sorry," said Harry.

James relaxed almost immediately; he wasn't one to hold a grudge. "That's all right," he said. "Lily and I have been talking, and we understand—or, well, at least we're _trying_ to understand—how strange it must be for you to be here. I mean, _look _at us—you parents are younger than you."

Harry shrugged lightly. "It's not as difficult as it was at first. Initially…"

"Initially?" prompted Lily, her green gaze sympathetic.

He half-smiled. "Initially, the vertigo was intense. I think I already mentioned this—how I had this mad dream of being somebody's son"—he fidgeted uncomfortably—"but I'm past that now."

"I'm sorry," said Lily, a little awkwardly.

He grinned broadly, suddenly amused by their situation. "It's hardly _your _fault. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be sitting here moping right now. I know precisely who's to blame."

"Voldemort," murmured James.

Harry nodded.

"If you killed him a year ago—in your time—why can't you hunt him down now and finish him? You would save so many lies…"

James trailed off as Harry shook his head. "I can't change the past. Dumbledore warned me of the consequences before I left." He glanced sadly between his teenaged mother and father. "You can't imagine how badly I wish I could—but what if I failed? What if I somehow warned Voldemort of what's to come, put him on his guard? I can't trade the possibility of never ending the war with that of ending it a few years earlier."

"You—" James started to say, his face dark, before Lily clamped down on his arm. He glared at her, but she only shook her head. He took a deep breath and said, "In your time the war is already over. How would Voldemort be able to discover who you really are? You're being a coward—"

Lily hissed at him. Harry, his expression vivid, sat up straight in his chair. "Don't you understand anything, James? You're already dead. I'm from the _future_. Your fate is certain. And, Merlin—if you knew what you were saying…Voldemort is much stronger now than he was when I faced him. Nearly every witch and wizard is either on his side or too terrified to revolt against him. You're sheltered, James—your parents know precisely where they stand, and you've been carefully protected every minute you've spent outside of this school since the earliest days of Voldemort's reign. There were friends and weapons and hideouts I had in my time that I don't have here. Don't demand the impossible."

"Don't you—"

"_Stop!_" James and Harry, jaws tights and eyes furious, turned to glare at Lily. "Stop fighting. This is ridiculous. James, Harry did the unthinkable in killing Voldemort. How can you ask him to do that _twice_?"

James's eyes narrowed. "How can he not offer?"

"_Get out!_" Harry was on his feet, trembling, his vision clouded by rage. "Now. Get out of here."

"For what?" demanded James, standing to face his son squarely. "For asking that you make an effort to save your own parents? What about everyone else? Sirius and Remus and Peter and whoever else who ends up murdered? Don't you care about any of us?"

Harry, his face deathly white, silently raised his right arm and pointed at the door.

"I'm not leaving. Either man up or explain yourself!"

"James!" hissed Lily, standing uneasily at his side, plucking at his sleeve.

"I have done everything —_everything_—in my power to protect the people around me since I was eleven years old," snarled Harry. "I have trained and sacrificed and suffered—I let Voldemort _kill_ me—" Shaking, he pressed a hand to his face and took two deep gasps of air. Quietly he said, "I wanted to make you proud. Even though you were dead, I wanted to make you proud of me. I had this idea of what kind of expectations and standards you'd have for me—of what kind of person you be…and you know what? You aren't that person. You're a selfish, arrogant idiot, and I want you to get away from me."

"_I'm_ selfish?" spat James. "You said it yourself—we give our _lives_ for you! Why—"

"Get out!"

"No! I'm not finished! Why did—"

"GET OUT!"

"James!" shrieked Lily, yanking him halfway around, attempting to drag him towards the door.

"Get off me!" he roared, shaking free. "Don't you get it, Lily? In four years you're going to _die_. This berk, of all the witches and wizards in the world, has the power to stop him—and instead he sits here, quietly pretending to befriend us without caring in the least that a few years after he skips back to his perfectly safe present we'll be_ dead!_"

Harry, his robes billowing, his eyes murderous, took a long stride towards James. His left hand was clenched, his right open at his side, ready to plunge into his pocket and snatch out his wand.

His expression one of the utmost contempt, James took two seconds more to sneer at his son before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. Lily followed, glancing over her shoulder with a swift look of sad apology. An hour ago she'd been eager for this visit with Harry Potter; now, stealing one final glance of the terrifyingly livid youth, she wondered how he could be half of herself.

* * *

Harry stood as if frozen for a long time, his muscles coiled, his posture rigid, his breath coming and going in small hard gasps. Eventually he thawed enough to stumble back a step and collapse down into his chair, where he sat with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees, his hands tight fists in his dark hair.

His mind felt numb. How had it happened? Who had started yelling? Why was he suffused with the urge to hunt down his seventeen-year-old father and smash his head against a wall? He groaned and raised his head, letting his hands fall down his face and into his lap where they lay immobile, still clenched into fists.

His idle gaze passed over Ginny's cloak, flung over the back of a chair, and he straightened with a jerk. He glanced at his watch and then rose to his feet.

8:11.

Shouldn't they be back by now? It took a moment for his mind to entirely refocus on his friends' task. The potion wore off at eight at the latest. They should've been far away from the Slytherins by then. Why weren't they back yet?

Maybe, a calm and reasonable corner of his mind said as he paced, maybe they're waiting somewhere, hiding, playing it safe so that no one walks into an invisible teacher and teacher's guest wearing student robes.

Maybe they were in a meeting that went past eight o'clock—maybe they couldn't leave and were forced to fight their way out—or worse…

8:13. With a quiet snarl he crossed to his bedroom door and yanked it open. Avery and Gibbon were still lying prone on his bed, bound and gagged and rigid. He reapplied the Stunning spell anyways. With the potion no longer in effect, they would need to be set loose soon—but how could he do that when he had no idea where Sirius and Ginny were?

He should go after them. Straightening his shoulders, he reached into his pocket and curled his fingers around his wand.

No. He couldn't blow their cover if it hadn't been already.

8:17.

He should go to Dumbledore.

He should—

The door opened.

Sirius entered, pale beneath his beard, his lips white. "Harry—"

"Where's Ginny?" he demanded, distantly aware of the sensation of his blood turning to ice.

"She should be with Dumbledore. There's no time—we have to leave now."

"What do you mean, she _should_ be with Dumbledore? Where is she? Sirius—"

"Harry—get a grip on yourself. We need to find Dumbledore_ now_. Let's go."

"_Sirius_—" he said again, urgently, stepping forward until his face was only inches from his godfather's.

In a vicious burst of movement, Sirius backhanded him across the face, drove his knee upward into his groin, and delivered a violent blow to his diaphragm. Lurching wildly, unable to draw a breath, burning with pain, Harry fell sideways to the ground. A corner of his mind stayed alert; he reached dazedly for his wand.

The man who wore Sirius's body kicked his arm away and stomped hard on his hand. Harry didn't manage even the beginnings of a scream before the spell forced him into silence; the last sound he heard was the brutal crunch of his fingers breaking. He knew no more.


	12. A Foreign Land

Hi everyone,

I am so **sorry** that it has taken me so long to finish this fic. I am just so devoted to making it the best story possible, and I wanted to do it justice. I have rewritten and rewritten it so many times over the years. This story has made me laugh and cry. It has driven me to frustrated tears and immeasurable heights. Your unyielding comments have inspired new hope in this fic. I am writing for you, the readers, as much as I am writing it for me. I just hope that you enjoy this Thanksgiving Treat.

I have been going through a lot recently. I am in college, which is stressful. I also have been struggling with an addiction. Recovery was hard. My spiritual recovery came from breeding greyhounds; those dogs are magical (who am I kidding, Harry could take them!). In addition to my dogs, my amazing friends both online and in the real world have been so helpful and instrumental in my recovery. Sex addiction is not a joke. Because of my recovery, the intermediate drafts of this fic were sexually charged and inappropriate. I would just like thank my beta sexysmurfX for her feedback. Couldn't have kicked the habit without that girl.

I wrote a song for you guys:

_Some nights, I wish that I could fix you_

_Cause I could use a friend for a change_

_I saw the ocean's daughter_

_Hello you, how is the rest_

_The skies are in the air tonight_

_But now, I've got a bucket full of love_

It goes to the tune of Beethoven's 9th in my head. I hope that it inspires all of you, as it inspires me.

Wow. This author's note is getting really long. I also wanted to apologize to my loyal fans that have been following my stories for years. When I started on this site (FANFIC, not porn) I was a 13 year old looking for a key to the larger world. Today, I am a recovering addict who has been so blessed to have so many wonderful followers on FF. Without you guys, I am nothing.

On a side note, I am currently starting my music career. I have been working with a couple of famous artists (I cannot drop names by contract) to write songs for them. The above song that I wrote for all of you will be performed by a famous artist (***cough*** initials are TS ***cough***) in early 2013.

I anticipate three more (ish) chapters to this fic. Hopefully I won't make you guys wait so long again!

And now, the much anticipated next chapter of "Trouble Rebounds"

* * *

When Harry awoke, he realized he was no longer in England. Instead, he was in an Asian country. He heard incomprehensible yammering around him. He was so confused. Where had the man who looked like his godfather sent him? He struggled to get to his feet.

Just then, he heard a weird whining sound. He looked up, as a large shadow was casts on street. Suddenly, everything went black.

America had gotten her revenge for Pearl Harbor. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Sirius, and Dumbledore knew no more.


End file.
